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Thursday, October 25, 2018

The Frontier Garden by Darrel Sparkman




                                                               darrelsparkman.com

Jody Lea Stewart recently wrote a great article titled Food For Life taking us back to the days of our grand parents and great grands. Building on that, I'd like to take us back farther. Way back.

                              The Frontier Garden


Stories of westward expansion are often fraught with inaccuracies. Media and writers go with the exciting parts. “If it bleeds, it leads.” Or, “don’t waste time with boring life, just write the important stuff.” So, we get war and conflict, cattle drives, gunfights, bank robberies and the like. Tension. Conflict. There was plenty of that going on. But, there was another area of adventure seldom mentioned.

What about the settler and his wife braving the wilds for a promise of owning their own land—beholden to no one—and whose existence was on occasion protected by the exciting souls we write about and see in movies.

I want to focus on gardening. What? I know. BORING! I can visualize editors throwing paper in the air, gathering them together and then setting it all on fire. Or me, if they could catch me.


But, you know? People eat. Trail drovers often survived on beef and beans. I’ve read they’d ride miles out of their way for a little variety. Vegetables, air-tight (canned) peaches, dried apples, or bear-sign (doughnuts) come to mind. A good cabbage stew? Yuck! I’d have to be real hungry.

If the settler, or ranch owner, wanted to plant a garden for culinary variety, where did they get their seed? How did they know when to plant various crops? How do they care for them? Many of these settlers just pulled foot and left their homes in the east for the siren call of the west. They weren’t always farmers by nature or training. Some were like people today that say, “if the world goes to pot, I’ll just grow my own food.”

​Uh, no you won’t. Other than kicking the dirt with their feet, how do they get started? All good questions to avoid sore toes. A good many in the western expansion died before they learned the lesson. 


One of the main staples of the American Indian was the three sisters. And for good reason. Beans, maize (corn), and citronelle’s (squash, pumpkins) can be stored for future use.



Some tribes grew these to supplement the meat they harvested. Especially since they’d last up to six months in storage. Add in nuts, berries and occasional fruit and their diet was well suited for their life style. Some were mixed together to make Stanica, Pemmican, or their own version of Trail Mix.

The problem? They worked at it year-round from can see to cain't,  and it took a huge area to supply their needs. Many moved to keep up with migrating herds of animals. In some cases the Osage would plant their crops, tend them for a while and then leave to go on a buffalo hunt. I should note that I’m focused west of the Mississippi.

The fate of the Osage veggie crop was left to Mother Nature. I can imagine the beasties of the forest just loved that. They still do. When I walk away from my garden, I can see their beady little eyes staring at me from the fence row. And the trees. And peeking around the garage. And in the sky as their shadow crosses the land. Those sneaky little... well. Ahem.


As a side note—necessity is always the mother of invention. By 1829 some 3500 eastern Cherokee had already moved willingly to Arkansas from their lands east of the Mississippi. Add that number to the several thousand Osage and Delaware, you can see how that would deplete the supply of ready game. The Cherokee brought their farming skills with them. In a census done that year, they had 22,000 black cattle, 1300 slaves, 2000 spinning wheels, 700 looms, 31 grist mills, 10 sawmills, 8 cotton gins, 18 schools and one newspaper. These folks were getting it done.

A funny thing. This same type census collected in 1811 also reported 20,000 hogs. In 1829 none were reported. Clerical error? Dunno. But I think we know where all those Arkansas Razorbacks came from.

So, while some Native Americans needed a lot of space to survive, what gave the interloping settlers a small advantage? Though playing catch-up with the Cherokee in farming skills, what gave them a subtle advantage over the other tribes?

Some of the settlers should have stopped to take lessons.

Their advantage was the ability to survive on a comparatively small plot of land. Sometimes before they started a dwelling, like a log home, soddy, tent, or converting their wagon—they broke ground for a garden and brought out their precious seed.

What helped them with that? What else? Technology. Yes, even then.

Usually, at least one of the family could read. Women often had a better education than the men. Either way, the information was there for them if they could take advantage of it. There were versions of frontier Cliff Notes and How-To’s every step of the way.

Depending on when their journey started, they may have had a copy of HUSBANDRY AND RURAL AFFAIRS, printed in 1801 by J. B. Bordley. Sitting next to the Bible, there might have been a copy of THE COTTAGE ECONOMY, printed in 1833 by William Cobbett, ref (3). Or, a little later 
THE KITCHEN GARDENERS, printed in 1847. The information was far reaching and accurate.



You could find information ranging from keeping the garden and small fields clean of weeds and pests, to advice for the young wife to not hang her crockery close to the door lest if fall and shatter when her husband slams it.


Garden seed was a vital and protected commodity and hoarded by the settler. Growing it to harvest and saving seed for the next year was vital. They had to bring everything needed for survival with them. There were no guarantees of trading or buying supplies if they happened upon a town. You can imagine the despair if they lost the contents of their wagon in a river, or other catastrophe. Seeds, plants and tools were their life.

Tending the garden, along with the homestead, was a full-time job. Once that ground was tilled, either by hoe or what nowadays we’d call a chisel plow, seeds were sown, sprouted, nurtured, cultivated and fertilized. When they harvested the crop, the plants were composted for working back into the soil as fertilizer and humus, along with any manure to be found. Many plants were double or triple cropped, like beans or shorter maturing cabbage, lettuce, or carrots and radishes. And the ever-ready staple—potatoes.

When you see scenes in old movies of the men driving cattle over the ‘nesters’ gardens, don’t think nuisance and intimidation—thing starvation.

Settlers often had a few cows or oxen, maybe a horse or two. Extra animals could be butchered in the winter if needed for survival, but they’d rather supplement with wild meat or fowl if possible. Hunger always trumps everything and changes plans.

As with the Native Americans, survival for the settler was a full-time job. They did it by managing a small parcel of land with intensive labor. Of course, if they were successful—they grew. Successful operations tend to begat neighbors, and those grew into communities. If looked at closely, it’s a business model used by off-the-grid folks and homesteaders today. Grow what you eat.



Picture: Hubert with his push-plow in 1918.

Fifty years ago my wife’s family operated a greenhouse and garden center. Most everything we sold, from produce to flowers—we grew. I can tell you, when you are looking at several acres of garden with nothing to keep you company but a sharp hoe and the baking sun, it’s not fun.

Everyone had a garden back then and we sold several thousand pounds of seed a season. Like all things, that changed. We still sell seed, but only a couple hundred pounds. Competition? Nope. There aren’t many gardens left, or the desire to grow.

Is that a good thing that we can go to the store and buy what we need? Always? I hope so. If not, those old books are going to be hard to find.

In 1840 approximately 89% of the American people lived in rural areas of the country. These country folks had the skills and knowledge necessary to supply and/or make most of their food and clothes, tools and shelter, furniture and amusements. They raised crops for food and fodder, cared for livestock, used tools we never knew existed to do things we never knew needed doing. And sometimes, they wrote down their thoughts and knowledge and published them for others.

Those numbers have flipped. Since 1840 people have been leaving the farms and heading for the cities. According to the last census, there are about 81% of us living in urban areas. The skills and knowledge it took to be self-sufficient are gone. We have become more and more dependent on modern accoutrements, just in time deliveries, and super stores. Our great grandparents did a wider variety of tasks before breakfast than we do all day long.


Not that I'm knocking modern living. I hope to never see the insides of an outhouse again. Ever.


Have a super day at whatever gets your garden growing and motor running.




Credit: Ruralskills.blogspot.com and D.B. Beau

Mother Earth News

Indians of The Ozark Plateau, by Elmo Ingrenthron
Husbandry and Rural Affairs Picture provided
The Cottage Economy Picture provided

1918 Garden - Hubert with his push plow






Darrel Sparkman resides in Southwest Missouri with his wife.  Their three children and eleven grandchildren and great grands live nearby.  His hobbies include gardening, golfing, and writing.  In the past, Darrel served four years in the United States Navy, including seven months in Viet Nam as a combat search & rescue helicopter crewman.  He also served nineteen years as a volunteer Emergency Medical Technician, worked as a professional photographer, computer repair tech, and along with his wife Sue, owned and operated a commercial greenhouse and flower shop.  Darrel is currently retired and self-employed.  He finally has that job that wakes you up every day with a smile




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Friday, October 19, 2018

Driving in Reverse by Jodi Lea Stewart

Driving in Reverse doesn't always get us where we want to go.

In the movie Smoke Signals, the main characters, Thomas and Victor, hitch a ride off the Coeur D’Alene Indian Reservation with a young woman who drives her car around the Rez all day in reverse because that’s the only direction the car will go in. I highly recommend this hilarious movie, and seeing it again recently got me to thinking.

Driving in reverse would make it powerfully difficult to navigate freeways, curvy roads, mountain passes or, for that matter . . . life! Yet, that’s exactly what I’ve been observing in some sectors of our society.

Throwing out Cursive

Throw the stupid stuff out! seemed to be the cutthroat attitude toward teaching cursive to children a few short years ago. I personally heard a principal tell parents on the first day of sixth grade that our student, or any student, didn’t need such an antiquated mode of communication anymore. He literally espoused that keyboarding was the new cursive and that printing would suffice for anything else.

Hmm . . . imagine the signers of the Declaration of Independence printing one of our most important historical documents and then signing their names in juvenile block letters.

Victoria L. Dunckley M.D. had some definite opinions on this subject in an online article in Psychology Today, May 2017. ". . . printing and cursive writing stimulate the brain and mind in unique and encompassing ways that typing does not, including hand-eye coordination, self-discipline, attention to detail, style, and global engagement of thinking, language, and working memory areas."

She cites that studies have shown laptop note-taking "produces a more shallow understanding of material compared to notes taken by hand . . . other research has shown that students using laptops to take notes do not perform as well on exams as longhand note-takers." 

Occupational therapist and creator of the widely used program, Handwriting Without Tears, Jan Olsen worries about the loss of cursive’s signature contribution: the signature.

“Handwriting is meant to be personal,” she said. “That’s why a signature is a signature. Because nobody writes exactly like anybody else.”

Conversely, Tamara Thornton, a University at Buffalo historian who tackled the subject in her 1996 bookHandwriting in America: A Cultural History isn’t swayed by the signature argument.

“People do like to express their individuality, but they can do it in many ways,” she said. “For all I know, people are coming up with their own emoji and maybe that will replace the signature.”

Say what? An emoji in place of our personal signature?


A hacker’s dream! Can’t you already see them salivating, hands poised—waiting and watching for that glorious day when signatures are replaced with “unique” but replicable smiley faces and ice cream cones wearing princess hats and frogs in tuxedos?

Old Math vs. Common Core or New Math 

Two photos – that’s all I’m going to say about it. Oh, and I have for your viewing pleasure a lively, short video to watch.




Knowing How to Drive a Stick Shift

Okay, this one is entirely subjective; but when I heard that the learning of how to do that was being frowned upon by some and discouraged by others, I had to weigh in.

Advantages


  • You have the ability to drive any car on the planet.
  • You sharpen your driving skills by anticipating what’s coming ahead, planning slow-downs and stops, and determining when to downshift rather than use the brakes.
  • Texting and shifting DO NOT go together.
  • It’s fun!
  • You develop a set of coordinated motions and reflexes that would simply never happen without using a manual transmission.
  • Bragging rights! According to some reports, only 18 percent of Americans can drive a manual transmission. If you do, brag!!

 Disadvantages 


  • Harder to sell; less buyers.
  • It’s more difficult in stop-start situations, especially on hills. Remind me sometime to tell you what happened when I drove my little stick shift Toyota from Arizona to the steep hills of San Francisco many years ago. I still have nightmares.


Knowledge is power. Knowing more is always better than knowing less!


How did we forget that?

So, when the school system tells you it is folly for a child to learn cursive when studies have shown it makes them smarter and better learners to do so . . . when the new or common core math takes up half a page or more of imaginative, artful (silly) figuring plus fifteen minutes or longer vs. one-half inch of a scratch pad and five seconds to calculate . . . when someone says it’s stupid to learn to drive a standard transmission car even if you have an interest in doing so, you can merely reply:

Driving in reverse is only funny in the movies!






Blackberry Road is available on Amazon.
Blackberry Road is Jodi's fourth novel. "Trouble sneaks in like an oily twister one afternoon in 1934 Oklahoma, pulling Biddy Woodson into a dark mystery that changes her life forever."




Jodi Lea Stewart was born in Texas to an "Okie" mom and a Texan dad. Her younger years were spent in Texas and Oklahoma; hence, she knows all about biscuits and gravy, blackberry picking, chiggers, and snipe hunting. At the age of eight, she moved to a large cattle ranch in the White Mountains of Arizona. Later, she left her studies at the University of Arizona in Tucson to move to San Francisco, where she learned about peace, love, and exactly what she DIDN'T want to do with her life. Since then, Jodi graduated summa cum laude with a BS in Business Management, raised three children, worked as an electro-mechanical drafter, penned humor columns for a college periodical, wrote regional Western articles, and served as managing editor of a Fortune 500 corporate newsletter. She currently resides in Arizona with her husband, two Standard poodles, two rescue cats, and numerous gigantic, bossy houseplants.


What's next? The Accidental Road, a historical novel set in 1954, On the exterior, it’s about a different side of America emerging from the dust of war and prosperity—an underbelly few comprehended even existed. Internally, it’s about a mom and her teenage daughter escaping a personal war, and how they wound up in Holbrook, Arizona, instead of Las Vegas. It’s about a town full of ghosts and tales, treachery and secrets, and how sometimes you have to hold your hands over your eyes and leap, not knowing where you’ll land. 



Tuesday, October 9, 2018

New Release — THE LAST WARRANT by Darrel Sparkman

When U.S. Deputy Marshal Luke Randall trails outlaw Johnny Ruskin across Indian Territory to Joplin, Missouri, he knows what he’ll find—a wide-open and boisterous mining town full of crooked gamblers, outlaws, lawmen dispensing justice for money, and more whorehouses than outhouses. 

He plans to find the killer and put him on a train to Fort Smith—or bury him. Ruskin is as ruthless as they come, and Luke has been doing some thinking on this assignment—does he want to spend the rest of his life wondering if every warrant he serves will be his last? When he meets Sarah McBride, she brings more to the table than a good meal—the offer of the kind of life he’s always dreamed of. 

Luke has to finish what he started with Johnny Ruskin, but death is all around him. Can he and Sarah get out of Joplin alive? No matter what, he must serve THE LAST WARRANT… 

EXCERPT


     White-hot pain tapped Luke Randall’s shoulder, like someone touched him with a branding iron as the deep-throated bark of a rifle echoed between the rocks and trees. Startled, he pitched from his saddle in an awkward dive that left him rolled up behind a limestone boulder with dirt and leaves sticking to his clothes. It would have been a softer landing if he had more meat on his bones, but he’d been blessed with big hands and feet, with a lot of skinny in between.
     His horse walked on a few paces, turned once to look at him like he’d lost his mind, and then commenced to munch on the tall grass next to the trail.
     Leaning against the rock, Luke rubbed his stinging shoulder, checking for blood. The bullet barely broke the skin, leaving a notch in the top of his vest. He’d paid a good chunk of money for leather, and now it had a hole in it. Served him right for not getting cloth like most others would. How would he sew up leather?
     He eased out one of his pistols, checking it for dirt. If he’d known his quarry was such a poor shot, he would have pushed harder to catch up. A couple of squabbling blue jays nearly drowned out the hoofbeats of the outlaw’s horse cantering away and Luke scrambled into the cover of the trees bordering the trail to wait. It wouldn’t be the first time someone sent their horse away as a decoy to set up an ambush.