Heading Home

(Special note:  Thank you, thank you!  As I write this, Old World Murder and The Heirloom Murders are ranked in the top 1% of the 8 million books that Amazons tracks, and for the last 3 weeks OWM has been in the top 50 on Amazon’s Best Selling Mysteries list.  The Kindle download of Old World Murder will be available for the special price of $1.99 through the end of January.)

The first novel I ever wrote, The Other Side of the Line, was set during the American Civil War. I was fifteen, growing up in the border state of Maryland, and already long fascinated by the difficult complexities citizens faced during those turbulent years. (That novel, thank goodness, was never published.)

That's me in the '70s, looking over Harpers Ferry from the lookout spot on Maryland Heights.

I spent summers in Frederick and Washington Counties. While attending and later working for a summer camp I canoed Antietam Creek, hiked to Harpers Ferry National Historical Park, and tramped over the rolling fields of Antietam National Battlefield. In the 1970s and early 1980s, most attention was focused on the military campaigns that raged through those places.  I found myself staring at the beautiful old homes that pre-dated the war and wondering, What happened to the people who lived there? What did civilians experience during the war?

The Piper Farm, Antietam National Battlefield

Those questions stayed with me when I moved to Wisconsin in 1982, and I started digging to find the answers. Twelve years later, I received a contract for Too Afraid To Cry:  Civilians in the Antietam Campaign.

This was a from-the-heart project.

The research done for that nonfiction book led to my first three published novels, The Night Riders of Harpers Ferry, The Bravest Girl in Sharpsburg, and Retreat From Gettysburg.

The war-time exploits of Theresa Kretzer, who lived in this private home in Sharpsburg, MD, provided inspiration for my second book, The Bravest Girl in Sharpsburg.

I later published two more Civil War novels but as my career developed, I moved in new directions.  My most recent historical mysteries for young readers, published by American Girl, have let me delve into a variety of eras and places. My Chloe Ellefson mysteries for adults focus—so far—on Wisconsin history. I do love plunging into new themes and settings!

Thirteen years have passed since Too Afraid to Cry was published. This September, however, marks the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Antietam. Next week I’ll be flying to Maryland to be interviewed for a documentary Maryland Public Television is producing to commemorate the event.  That’s prompted me to revisit the stories I found so compelling way back when.

The Pry House, Antietam National Battlefield

It’s also reminded me that the trajectory of my writing career can be traced back to those days when I wandered through Western Maryland, intrigued by the power of battlefield landscapes. The old houses that remain stand as silent tribute to what everyday people—those who didn’t choose to go to war, but instead had war descend on them—once endured.  I’m grateful to the MPT producers who’ve given me this opportunity to return home, in more ways than one.

On The Street Where You Live

History Comes Alive in Madison Street Names

It’s easy to think of historic sites in terms of specially-designated places—battlefields, old homes with distinguished architectural details, living history museums.  Recently three Madison, WI, researchers reminded residents that history is everywhere.

Burr Angle, Dolores Kester, and Ann Waidelich compiled and published a series of articles called The Origins of Some Madison, WI, Street Names.  I’ve lived in the Madison area for seventeen years and learned a lot from the book!  Street names reflect the changing layers of local history, and the individuals, ethnic groups, and businesses sometimes honored.

I’m delighted to welcome Dolores Kester to Sites and Stories today.

Two streets in Madison, Wisconsin—Cordelia Crescent and Harvey Terrace—are named for Cordelia Harvey. Cordelia was the “Wisconsin Angel” to thousands of sick and wounded during the Civil War and to hundreds of war orphans into the 1870’s. (Engraving from "Woman’s Work in the Civil War," L. P. Brockett, 1867.)

KE:   D, how did this project come to be?

DK:  Kathleen, thanks so much for inviting us to discuss our project.  It all started with my suggestion to Burr back in 2006 that he write up a few paragraphs for our neighborhood newsletter on street name history since he walks our Sheltie all over our neighborhood and spends a lot of time at the historical society library.  Burr started doing some research, remembered that Ann had done some talks on history at our Lakeview Branch library, and we teamed with her to start working on a few articles on Northside history, where we live.  All three of us have a background in education and resources such as libraries, so it was a natural fit for our interests even though we hadn’t done much  research on this subject.

KE:   How did you and your colleagues go about finding the information? 

DK:   We started pulling together information from city directories, plat books, old newspapers, Wisconsin and Madison histories, and online databases.  We found that for the last 150 years, most histories of Madison have concentrated on the period before 1900, so our articles deal mostly with the period from 1890 to 1990 in suburban areas beyond the original city limits.

Large portions of Madison’s South Side had already been platted by 1910. ("The Standard Historical Atlas of Dane County, Wisconsin," Cantwell Printing Company, Madison, 1911; The University of Wisconsin Digital Collection.)

Just as important as the archival research was input from residents such as Marlyn Sachtjen and Annie Stuart of Annie’s Bed and Breakfast here on the Northside.  One of the best things about this project, aside from the thrill of the chase, was that we met some very nice and intelligent people of many backgrounds.  We could not have done this project without this support and interest from the community.

By October 2010, our articles had grown to 275 pages.  Since the three of us are getting along in age, like many of the folks who shared their information with us, we thought it was time to share our discoveries.  Copies are now available in most Madison area public libraries, at the Historical Society, in several UW libraries, and in all Madison public schools.

KE:   I enjoyed getting glimpses of the first Euro-Yankee settlers in places that are now largely obliterated by development.  Did you find any surprises in areas you thought you knew well? 

DK:   You bet!  Especially in areas developed since 1900.  Did you know that Whitney Way is named for a crabapple?

Many of these areas reflect their earlier history, as in the names of the four lakes, and in areas like Nakoma where many of the street names are based on Longfellow’s poem “The Song of Hiawatha.”  Indian words frequently appear in place names, such as “Wingra” which is Winnebago/Ho-Chunk for “duck.”

KE:   I also learned about choices made as neighborhoods were planned and developed—such as Nakoma, where the Madison Realty Company ran a street-naming contest.  Can you share any other neighborhood discoveries you found intriguing? 

DK:  The story behind the intersection of Hooker and Pleasure Drive on the Northside is always popular.  About 1906 the Madison Park and Pleasure Drive Association decided to build a connector between the northern section of Farwell Drive and Sherman Avenue.  The road ran across the Maple Bluff Country Club golf course (where it was known as Golf Road), bridged the Chicago and North Western Railway tracks, and curved around to the present McPherson Street, at the northern border of the Sherman Park subdivision which contains Hooker Avenue.  This created, about 1928, an intersection—Pleasure Drive and Hooker Avenue—which has been a source of much amusement.

Joseph Hooker was a sometimes brilliant civil war general who was fond of hard liquor and fast women – so much so that reporters wrote of “Hooker’s brigade” of camp followers.  The term “hooker” was actually in use long before Joseph Hooker, but popular legend attributes its origin to the general.  The street signs at Hooker and Pleasure Drive are reportedly the most often stolen of any in Madison.

We also discovered just how much developers such as Clyde A. Gallagher, Ingvald Hovde, Albert K. Moe, Paul E. Stark, John McKenna Sr., John (Jack) McKenna Jr., and Don McKenna, contributed to suburban growth.

KE:   Do you have a few favorite stories that emerged from your research?

DK:   A moving and touching story is that most of the streets at Truax Field were named in 1945 to honor Wisconsin airmen killed during the war.  Twenty-six of these soldiers were from Madison.

Many circuses, including Ringling Brothers, performed at the Madison Airport, at the corner of Coolidge Street and North Street from about 1928 until about 1942. (The Wisconsin State Journal, August 4, 1935.)

One of my favorite stories is about the only street in Madison named for a horse.

Winchester Street on the Northside of Madison runs east from North Sherman to Huxley: Sheridan is the next street south.  Both were named by the developer, John C. McKenna, in 1910 or 1911.  On the morning of October 16, 1864, alerted by telegraph that Confederate soldiers were attacking, Philip Sheridan rode his horse Rienzi some 25 miles from Winchester, Virginia, to Cedar Creek, Virginia, where he rallied Union soldiers who stopped the Confederate advance.  His heroic ride and Rienzi’s valor were widely publicized.  Sheridan then renamed Rienzi “Winchester.”  A children’s poem, “Sheridan’s Ride,” is still popular.  Winchester, stuffed since 1871, is at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C.

Also, Burr recently had a conversation with Dana Jackson, Education Director for the Bad River Band of Chippewa/Ojibwe in Odanah, Wisconsin near Ashland, who explained the use of the name “Hiawatha” for the main character in Longfellow’s poem.  This word originates from the Mohawk or Mohican tribes that are from the New York area, while the poem is set in the Lake Superior region inhabited by the Chippewa.  Dana reported that the Chippewa name for the Hiawatha character is so powerful that you can only safely pronounce the name when there is snow on the ground.  Otherwise you might wake up with a rattlesnake in your bed.  The Mohawk name can be used safely any time of the year.

KE:   This project could be done in any community.  Can you share some tips for others considering this type of research? 

DK:   Here are a few tips for others thinking about doing this type of research.

1)    Check out what’s already been done.  For example, in 1947 the American Dialect Society published The Place-Names of Dane County, Wisconsin by Frederic G. Cassidy.  The University of Wisconsin Press published a revised edition as Dane County Place-Names in 1968; this was reprinted in 2009, also by the University of Wisconsin Press.  Professor Cassidy’s book was extremely helpful to us and saved us some tedious searching.  Burr and I both worked for Professor Cassidy on his Dictionary of American Regional English in the mid-1960’s as graduate students at the University of Wisconsin, and have always admired him as much for his enthusiasm as for his erudition.

2)    Don’t dawdle—many of your best sources will be 75-90 years old.

3)    Make friends with librarians—they’re your best helpers.

4)    Use real English—not journalistic clichés like “plethora,” “eye popping,” “jaw dropping,” “passionate,” or “gold standard.”

5)    Our project was completely self-financed.  No budget.  No formal meetings.  No deadlines.

6)    Start with one neighborhood, then go on from there if you want.

7)    Circulate drafts among informants, neighbors, and fellow historians, to catch mistakes before they become embarrassing.

8)    Don’t believe everything you read, even from official sources such as census listings or draft registration cards.  They may have errors or inconsistencies.  On the other hand, neighborhood folklore and urban legends are usually at least partially true.  It’s your job to get the whole story.

9)    Physically inspect every street mentioned in an article, preferably on foot or by bicycle.

10)   Treat it as a hobby project—don’t expect fame or money.  Do it for fun.

Thanks!  I hope your work inspires similar projects.  What a great opportunity to investigate local history!

Rosemaling in Vesterheim’s One-Room Schoolhouse

I took my first rosemaling class at Vesterheim Norwegian-American Museum in the summer of 2010. I thought it would be a one-time thing, done primarily to gain insight into one of the characters in my Chloe Ellefson mysteries—Chloe’s mom, who is a Gold Medalist in this style of folk-art painting. To my surprise, I discovered that I loved it! (Check out Rosemaling Through Time to see some examples.) I left that first class determined to do at least a little painting once I got home, just to keep my hand in.

Working on my first project, 2010.

Well, my life is crazy-busy and that didn’t happen. I returned to Vesterheim last July for my second five-day class having not held a paintbrush for a year. I’d signed up for the beginners’ Telemark class again, and was happy to see several students I’d met the previous year. I was also surprised to find several experienced painters in the class, including one Gold Medalist.

The experienced students’ work was impressive. Although some things did come back once we started painting, I was frustrated that I hadn’t been able to practice as I’d wanted to.

Beginning my first 2011 project, a bowl.

Then I had a chance to see some of the work being done by students in the other class being held at Vesterheim that week, “Freehand Halling Rosemaling.” That class was taught by Tove Ness, an expert who has her own studio in the mountains of Hallingdal, Norway. Not only did Tove’s students produce wonderful, unique works—they accomplished more in a day than I could imagine doing in…OK, more than I could imagine doing at all. Ever.

Several exquisite examples of the work done in the freehand class.

So for a couple of days my pleasure in being back in a class was tempered by a certain amount of intimidation. Between studying the works of old masters in the museum proper, admiring the pieces entered in the National Exhibition of Folk-Art in the Norwegian Tradition (which happened to coincide with my class), and seeing the amazing work being produced by more experienced students, I felt a bit overwhelmed.

Some of the rosemaled pieces in Vesterheim's collection.

A few of the pieces in the exhibition.

Then I happened to overhear my wonderful teacher, Joanne MacVey, talking with another student about her experiences attending a one-room schoolhouse.  She mentioned something I’ve heard and read many times:  that the younger students tended to advance quickly because they had the opportunity to listen to and observe older students working through their lessons.  Although those in primary grades were focused on their own lessons, they subconsciously absorbed some of what the more advanced students were working on.

Joanne, who is also a Gold Medalist.

And that made me realize I’d been looking at my situation all wrong. Instead of being intimidated, I should be grateful I had the opportunity to learn while surrounded by talented artists and great examples, old and new.

I may be a perpetual rosemaling beginner, since the writing life seems to preclude me finding the blocks of time needed to gain any real proficiency. But that really doesn’t matter. I love painting and its inherent traditions and heritage. I love the challenge of doing something visual instead of creating pictures with words. Taking classes at Vesterheim exposes me to all kinds of knowledge and expertise. It’s something I do for fun, I’ve made some wonderful friends, and stressing about it is really a bad idea.

The finished bowl. (Design by Joanne MacVey.)

So for the rest of the week, I let myself enjoy the process. We painted a bowl first, and then started a box. I didn’t have the box finished by the week’s end, and since I knew I wouldn’t have time to paint once I got home, I pulled an all-nighter in the hotel room after the final class.

My work station at the Decorah Super 8. (I was very careful, and didn't get even a dab of paint on anything!)

Last week I gave the finished box to my mom for Christmas. Big hit.

Box lid. (Design by Joanne MacVey.)

The complete box.

Diane Weston, former head of educational programming at Vesterheim, said that the student/artist community there is like a family.  That’s why a Gold Medalist would enroll in a beginner’s class.  There’s always something to learn, and most of all, it’s fun to spend time with other painters.

Joanne MacVey and Diane Weston, 2011

I also think that the global community (or one-room school, if you will) that practices and perpetuates any type of folk-art, such as rosemaling, forms it’s own family. If you’re at all interested in learning more about one of these old handicrafts, see what opportunities might exist in your area, or check out Vesterheim’s class offerings. Most of all, have fun!

A World War II Holiday Prayer

I spent Christmas with my mom this year, and she shared a memory I hadn’t heard before.  While growing up in Absecon, New Jersey, she sang in the children’s choir at the Methodist Church.  In 1942, the choir director wrote new lyrics set to the tune of “White Christmas:”

While round the world the guns thunder,
Death drops from under hostile wings –
Here in God’s dwelling
Where we hear swelling
The voice of every child who sings –
Then let us ask the dear Father
To bless and guide each soldier son –
Let us raise our voices as one
In a prayer that war will soon be done!

The congregation dates back to a Methodist Revival held in the area in the late 1700s.  The original structure from the 1820s was replaced in 1856.  I haven’t been there, but illustrations show a gracious building, remodeled several times over the years.  I love the image of the young people singing earnestly in the candle-lit church, hoping and praying for peace in the new year.

This sketch was made in 1960 by E.O. Nielsen.

I hope the coming year brings peace to more people around the globe, and I wish you and yours a wonderful 2012!

My Grandmothers’ Christmas Cookies

Holidays and food…the combination can make almost anyone nostalgic. Do you honor tradition with a favorite recipe or two?

I didn’t know my father’s mother very well. Grandmother Ernst was Swiss, and reserved. I was too young when she died to have forged a close relationship with her. I have no personal mementos, no treasured keepsakes.

Not so with my mother’s mother. Grandma Johnston lived long enough to know that I’d developed a sincere interest in family stories.

Each year Grandma J. baked hundreds of Christmas cookies. Wherever I happened to be, I could count on receiving a tin box full of Christmas cookies. I visited one December during her final years, when her health was failing. She sat in a wheelchair in the kitchen, directing my grandfather as he mixed cookie dough. I can still see her frail hands patting the dough into balls and placing them carefully on cookie sheets.

After Grandma J. died, I inherited her recipe cards. Some were decades old, battered and ink-stained. Some were much newer, even typed. If she’d gotten the recipe from a friend, she noted the name.

My Grandma Johnston's recipe box.

I thumbed through the cookie recipes, recognizing family classics, puzzling over types I didn’t recall. Then I came to a card for Nut Wafers. In parenthesis my grandma had written “Mrs. Ernst.”

I’d never know that Grandma J. had gotten this, or any, recipe from Grandmother E.. I could hardly wait to bake these cookies.

Following her recipe precisely, I mixed up a batch. I used Grandma J.’s old brown bowl, the one she’d always used for cookies. I knew the Nut Wafers would be perfectly wonderful. After all, both my grandmothers had liked them.

Well, they weren’t perfect. The dough was to0 sticky to form as directed. When I baked the cookies, the edges crisped before the centers had set.

I spent a couple of days feeling sad. Then I gave myself permission to tinker. With just a couple of minor changes, I ended up with a cookie that I love.

Each December, I bake Nut Wafers. Doing so still makes me feel close to both of my grandmothers. It doesn’t matter that I changed the recipe a bit.  Traditions evolve. Now the recipe belongs to all of us.

Kathleen’s Grandmothers’ Nut Wafers

1 c. butter, softened
2 c. raw sugar
2 eggs
2 t. vanilla
1 c. ground walnuts
2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, melted
1-1/2 t. salt
1/2 t. baking soda
2-1/2 c. flour

Cream the butter with the sugar. Beat in eggs, vanilla, ground nuts, and melted chocolate. Stir the remaining ingredients together in a separate bowl, and then add slowly to the dough mixture.

Drop by rounded teaspoons onto a greased cookie sheet, about 2″ apart. These spread, so don’t use too much dough. Bake 10-12 minutes at 325 degrees. Cool slightly before moving to a drying rack.

**
This post originally appeared on Amy Alessio’s wonderful vintage foods blog in 2009.

Meet Ilona Fridl

Ilona and I go way back, and I’m delighted to welcome her to Sites and Stories today!

Why Alaska?

I want to thank Kathleen for inviting me to guest blog. I’ve known Kathleen for many years, since we were working out at Old World Wisconsin in Eagle. We both took the author path after we left and have stayed friends. I love her books that are set at OWW!

Book 1

I’ve written a series called Dangerous Times. It’s a three book Historical Romance that follows the Shafer family. The first book, Silver Screen Heroes, began in California in the early 1920′s. Addy Garcia and Zeke Shafer work for a failing motion picture studio, Majestic. They uncover that the business has been taken over by a crime family to make and distribute liquor. As they help the police capture the mob, they get targeted for revenge. As it ends, Addy and Zeke marry and run to Juneau, Alaska Territory.

Book two, Golden North, starts when Addy and Zeke arrive in Juneau. Why Alaska? Well, I wanted somewhere that the crime family would have trouble finding them. Zeke’s brother, Josh, escapes their brutal father and buys a run-down theater and bar in the Territorial Capitol and invites Zeke and Addy to come and help him renovate the building. Without giving too much away, trouble finds them in a murder at the theater.

Book 2

Alaska in the 1920′s was a frontier outpost in many ways. They just installed electricity in 1914 and they still didn’t have telephones. Telegrams were the way they communicated with the outside world. Juneau is snuggled into a shelf between the sea channels and the mountains. You can only arrive there by ship or plane. Juneau was starting to come into it’s own and talk of making Alaska a state was already surfacing in government.

I wanted to make the third book, Bronze Skies, a World War Two novel and looked into the early 1940′s in the still Territorial Arctic. I would follow the next generation of Shafers into the war years.

Zeke and Addy’s son, Tom, is in the Army Air Corps out of Elmendorf in Anchorage. I wanted to tell the story of the Japanese invasion of the Aleutian Islands, Attu and Kiska. Not much is written about the war in the North Pacific and the research was interesting. Through the hero’s eyes, we see the military side and through the heroine’s, Pam, the home front.

Book 3

Here’s an excerpt from Bronze Skies:

None of the Shafers were about, but then the office door opened and the two Army officers she had seen earlier came out with Zeke, who looked shaken. Pam’s heart dropped to the floor, and she gripped the back of the nearest chair. Oh, God, did something happen to Tom? She wavered between running into the office to find out and waiting to see if someone would tell her.

Glancing at Pam, Zeke escorted the officers out the lobby doors before he made his way over to her. She gripped his arm. “What―who?”

He put his hand over hers. “Not Tom.” He took a second to compose himself. “They were here to tell Jenny that Chase was killed in Europe.”

Pam’s throat closed and tears misted her eyes. “Oh, no! Poor Jenny.” She started trembling and pulled out the chair to sit down. “How?”

Zeke sat next to her. “They said it was in an assault on Naples, a few days ago. They’re sending his effects back to her.”

“If there is anything I can do, let Jenny know she can count on me.”

“I’ll tell her. Are you going to be all right?”

Pam nodded. Zeke patted her shoulder as he rose and headed to the office.

****

A week later, the day before Christmas, a silent snow gently fell around the church where Pam and her family gathered with the Shafers and the Marshalls, and other friends and relatives, for the service in memory of Chase.

All that Jenny had of her husband came in a shipping box. His dog tags and mementos were all there. Jenny had been inconsolable when she found the telegram in his wallet about their baby. He must have been so happy, Pam thought But now…

The memorial service was impressive in its military traditions. Pam and her family sat behind the Shafers and the Marshalls in their church, watching the local soldiers stand at attention as the eulogies from the minister and family members went on. Pam glanced at Jenny, who sat between her mother and her mother-in-law, clasping their hands as if for strength. Pam’s heart was breaking for Jen and her baby. Far back in her mind, where she had sent it, was the awareness that this could happen to Tom.

As they left the church, the snow had ended and the heavens were clear in the crisp air. One of the young soldiers was playing Taps hauntingly beneath the northern lights that waved like a tribute in the dark sky. All the others, in turn, offered condolences to Jenny and the Marshalls.

The group of people silently turned, heading back to their cars, their feet making swishing noises in the white December snow. Pam looked up at the stars. Please, God, bring us peace on earth for the next year.

She found it hard to go back to the gaily decorated restaurant and work, but she knew the Shafers needed everyone to pitch in while their family tried to heal from this tragedy. This, certainly, put the letter about Tom into perspective. Worrying about something like that, when Jen has lost her husband… She helped shut down the restaurant that evening, closing it until the day after Christmas.

In the lobby, she peered at a figure in black in the dim light, sucking in her breath in fear it might be Vic as the person turned toward her. “Jenny?”

Jenny hesitated a moment. “Pam, I had to come back here tonight. I needed to find something normal.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

Jenny embraced her. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. I never expected Chase―well, I mean, this was never in our plans.” Pam silently waited for her to go on. “Thank you for being there.”

Muriel came in. “Jenny, ready to go home?”

Jenny stood back and nodded.

As they were going out the door, Muriel turned. “Do you need a ride?”

Gesturing toward the street, Pam said, “My dad’s waiting for me.” Drawing her coat around her, Pam put her arms around both of them. “I know this isn’t a happy time, but may the Christmas Peace be with all of you.”

Muriel kissed Pam’s cheek. “Thank you. To you as well.”

On their way, Pam’s dad drove by the Marshalls’ home. The blue star in the window had turned to gold.

~~~~

Thank you for taking a look. If you want to ask me something in the comments, I’ll be happy to answer.

Come visit me at my web site: http://www.ilonafridl.com The books can be purchased at http://www.thewildrosepress.com or Amazon.  I’m on Facebook and Goodreads.

Thank you, again, Kathleen!

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I enjoy good food; even more, I enjoy pausing to celebrate bounty. So this week I thought I’d re-post some thoughts about the simple pleasure of homemade  bread.

Bread dough raising in a coiled rye straw basket at Old World Wisconsin.

Two of German farms that have been restored at Old World Wisconsin, setting for my Chloe Ellefson mysteries, were home to immigrants from Pomerania. The 1860 Schulz Farm represents a newly-arrived family. Heavy rye bread is baked in a brick bakeoven.

That's me at the Schulz Farm...

The Koepsell Farm has been restored to its 1880 appearance—when the family was prosperous and well settled in Wisconsin. Interpreters there prepare lighter wheat bread in a cookstove. By visiting both farms, guests can see for themselves how life changed over the years.

...and at the Koepsell Farm.

I worked in the German area for most of 1982—my first year at Old World Wisconsin.  On the last day of the season I suddenly realized I should have copied all of the recipes we used.  One of my friends, Jean Hornburg, scribbled down the basic recipe for the Koepsell wheat bread on an Exhibit Building Report (kept in the houses so interpreters could notify curators of any problem.)

Thirty years later, I still treasure the recipe. The bread is good. Even better are memories of sharing meals with good people who thought that working at Old World was a special thing to do.

By the way, Jean still sometimes works at the site. I had the chance to see her when I went back to launch The Heirloom Murders in September.

One of the best things about writing the Chloe Ellefson mysteries has been reconnecting with friends!

This Thanksgiving I’m grateful to have good food to eat, and family and friends to share it with. I’m also grateful to readers!  I wish you and yours a peaceful holiday.

Witness Trees

In the 1800s, when public land was being surveyed for Euro/Yankee settlement, surveyors marked the corners of sections and quarter sections. In prairie landscapes, they pounded posts into the corners. In woodlands, surveyors marked blazes on “witness trees.”

In more recent times, historians have named specific old trees in certain places as witness trees. For example, a small honey locust sapling was growing on a Pennsylvania field during the Battle of Gettysburg  in 1863, and it stood about 150 away from the speakers’ platform when Abraham Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address. The tree survived for 145 more years, providing visitors a tangible living link to those desperate days. Only a handful of such trees survive on the battlefield.

The honey locust is in the center. Gettysburg National Military Park photo, 2008, taken shortly after the storm that severely damaged it.

I’m always on the lookout for grand old trees. Recently, while trying to meet multiple deadlines, I holed up for a few days at Holy Wisdom Monastery near Middleton, WI. The 138-acre grounds include restored prairies, woodlands, a small glacial lake…and several witness trees.

A stunning old oak.

None are famous, as far as I know. But I find it impossible to contemplate these ancient trees without wondering about all they have seen. Pre-historic mound builders and Ho-Chunk travelers likely hunted here. Perhaps a young couple’s long wagon journey ended when they decided to build their cabin nearby. Maybe a family farmed this land, managing to hang on during World War I, the Great Depression, World War II.

It's hard to get a grasp of scale, but this is one of the largest maple trees I've ever seen.

In the 1950s, land was purchased by a community of Sisters of St. Benedict. Today the Benedictine Women of Madison, an ecumenical community, lovingly maintain the prairie and oak savannah. And through all the changes, a few magnificent trees have remained.

Trunk of the maple shown above.

As I worked to finish the first draft of my next Chloe Ellefson mystery, I found that thinking about these trees and the lives they’ve witnessed was somehow inspiring.  People continue to visit this landscape, each with their own story. Two weeks ago one of those travelers was me. I pressed a couple of autumn leaves to bring home. Maybe my brief stay left an ephemeral imprint in the continuum, too.

How about you? Any witness trees in your area?

Vessels of Tradition

A reader recently asked if the elderly couple in The Heirloom Murders was based on real people.  I was delighted with the question.

She was speaking of Johann and Frieda Frietag, a Swiss-American couple.  Many Swiss immigrants settled in Green County, WI.  Communities like New Glarus and Monroe still celebrate Swiss heritage and culture.  My protagonist Chloe meets the Frietags when she visits their farm:

Johann grinned, and Chloe glimpsed the young man he’d once been.  “People used to call me an old coot,” he told her.  “Then some lady from the historical society came out a year or so ago.  Talked about how important it is to preserve the old ways.  All of a sudden I’m a somebody important.”  He looked pleased.  “She called Frieda and me ‘vessels of tradition.’”

“That’s a fancy way of saying that we’re old,” Frieda said dryly.

Johann and Frieda are fictional characters, but they’re based on a handful of people I met back in the ’80s when I worked at Old World Wisconsin. I have special memories are of meeting some of the elderly people who donated buildings or artifacts to the historic site, or who helped researchers and curators understand life as they had known it.

Elsie Peterson and me, 1990.

Some of these people, although born and raised in Wisconsin, spoke English with an accent because they’d grown up hearing German or Norwegian or Polish.  I was young, new to Wisconsin, eager to soak up everything they had to share.  Without exception they were delightful people, patient with my questions about school activities or domestic crafts or agricultural practices, generous with their memories and information. They were living links to the ideas and themes and activities interpreted at the historic site.

Me and Otto Hilgendorf, 1982.

So Johann and Frieda Frietag became my quiet tribute to the children and grandchildren of 19th-century European immigrants—people who grew up somewhere between old world and new. I got to meet a few of them, and I’m grateful.

Joining The Club

People who live on Washington Island, off the northern tip of Door County, WI, have been known to tell newcomers that they won’t be true islanders until they stop at Nelsen’s Hall for a shot of bitters. I’d somehow missed the iconic tradition during my visits. But when I decided to place a scene at Nelsen’s in the third Chloe Ellefson Historic Sites mystery, tentatively titled Beyond Death’s Door, I had to remedy that omission.

A venerable landmark.

Danish immigrant Tom Nelsen built the tavern in 1899. He lived to be 90, and credited his long life to his habit of drinking nearly a pint of Angostura Bitters every day. When that pesky Prohibition law went into effect, Nelsen blithely applied for a pharmacist’s license and dispensed bitters as a stomach tonic—despite the fact that it’s about 90 proof. Today, Nelsen’s Hall has the honor of being the state’s oldest legally-operating bar.

The hall was much more then a tavern, though. Over the years it has served as a social center for the island community. Memorabilia that decorates the main room provides lots of reminders.

Photographs and old tools, mounted near the waitstaff station.

Some of the walls are of stovewood construction, as seen in the open section here.

Once, island residents came to Nelson's to watch movies. This equipment dates to 1910.

The original bar, dating back to 1850, now showcases old ads.

When my husband Scott and I  visited recently, we told the waitress that we wanted to try the bitters.  She served up two shot glasses filled with a dark reddish liquid, and we tossed ‘em back.  Not too bad, I thought.  A second later I realized that my nostrils felt hot.

Nelson's serves more Bitters than any other location in the world.

We were invited to sign the Bitters Club membership book. The waitress pulled out two membership cards, dipped her thumb in the dregs of my glass, and provided the official seal. Each year more then 10,000 people visit Nelsen’s and join the Bitter’s Club.

Scott and I followed our initiation with dinner, which was quite good—definitely not your basic munchies. I won’t order bitters again, but it was a fun evening. Do you think the IRS will question our bar tab?

Anyway, I like businesses that celebrate tradition.   If you have a favorite, do let me know!  I’m always game for a new adventure.