Happy "almost" 4th of July!
And if you are from Canada, Happy "late" Canada Day!
The week disappeared and I'm not sure what happened to it. Let me think, what did I do this week?
Saturday– I worked outside in the morning, and was even out in some rain. And I got in the chiggers. I could have done without the nine chigger bites on one ankle.
Sunday– I helped in Children's Church and got to see what lesson I'll be teaching this month. I also got some things figured out about the Christmas Play I was asked to write and direct this year.
Monday– It was one of those days where you have a long list of things to do and everything seems to take longer and at the end of the day you aren't sure if you got much done even if you list is mostly crossed off. That was also the day I decided to set aside Book 3 of my new series and let it sit for a bit. Something just wasn't working and while we have an idea of what it might be, I don't have time or brain power to go back and fix it right now. So you can be praying it will all come together later.
Tuesday– My aunt came down for the day. She hasn't been down since . . . I don't know when. So that was fun. I was able to get some things done.
Wednesday– It was our first day of Camp! It was exciting to open it with 70 people counting the Aunties. This was also the day I almost drank a brown recluse spider. He was in my glass of water and I was talking and didn't notice him. Until he tickled my lips. Then I spit out my water and dumped my glass. I'm still not sure if he was actually in my mouth or just almost.
Thursday– I worked on this and that, and the other thing.
One thing I did this week–though I don't remember when–was make a list of ALL the stories I've posted on my blog (that haven't been turned into novels) except the Christmas ones. Anyone want to guess how many I've written? Now I can look at the list in my planner and see the date(s) I've posted any stories. Hopefully this will mean I can repost some stories for you.
Anyway, here's a poem and a short story. Hope you enjoy them!
Independence Day
If I lived in Philadelphia, my heart would swell with pride,
In 1776 I’d stand, with patriots at my side.
If I served at Ft. McHenry and the British came to fight,
In 1812 I’d wait to see Old Glory in the light.
If I traveled west by wagon, I would gladly stop and say
A prayer of thanks to God above on Independence Day.
If I flew a plane with Rickenbacker above the foreign skies,
I’d be fighting for our freedom and its glow would fill my eyes.
If I were on board the Missouri in 1945,
I’d thank the Lord that peace had come and I was still alive.
If I joined Neil Armstrong in his trip up to the moon,
I’d wear a grin because I’d know my flag was going too.
So many years of history, of battles, folks, and things,
Our flag still flies in freedom’s skies while my heart loudly sings.
This land of 50 states and stars, the land I call my own,
Is for the brave, the true, the free, where Liberty calls home.
Where should I then in this great land its birth to celebrate?
Two hundred forty-four years have gone, God bless the United States.
If I were east in Washington D.C. I’d watch the fireworks display.
If I were up in Boston, I’d hear the Boston Pops play.
If I were in west in California I’d see a dazzling sight.
If I were down south in Austin, I might celebrate all night!
But I am here with family, in the middle of the land,
No fireworks or speeches, and no military band.
But I’ll still give thanks for the U.S.A.
And celebrate Independence Day!
~**~
February, 1872
Union Town
Nebraska Territory
. . . This month has been rather interesting because we have had a visitor, Pony Bob Haslam. He was traveling west, but the storms stopped him. He rode for the Pony Express years ago and has been with us now for two weeks. He is a great favorite especially since he told David that Storm was one of the finest horses he has seen in years. He tells the most interesting stories in the evenings about his life and even a few about the Pony Express. The boys said I have to tell you the story that Mr. Haslam told us last night. And they say I have to write it in story form. I told them that I wasn’t sure I could or that you would be too interested in it, but Ben asked, “She has brothers doesn’t she?” So, I will do my best.
It was a beautiful mid summer morning in Nevada when Pony Bob turned his steps in the direction of the Pony Express station. He had been a rider for some time and enjoyed it. Of course there were times of great danger and times when great wisdom was needed, but on the whole what could be more exciting then carrying the mail through snow & hail, cold & heat, outlaws & Indians? At the station Pony Bob waited for the rider to come in from the east. Soon he came, and Pony Bob was on his way west. His mustang made pretty good time, and Pony Bob saw no sign of Indians. He had ridden for quite awhile and just up ahead was the Reese River Station. There he would change to a new horse and continue on his way. His first horse was getting worn out. It had already carried him seventy-five miles that day. Just a little farther down the road was the station. Pony Bob blew his horn to let the station master know he was coming, so that he could get a new horse ready. But alas, when he rode up, there was the station master but no horse! “Sorry,” the station master said. “Don’t have any horses ‘round here a’tall. Not even a mule.” “What!” Pony Bob exclaimed. “What’s happened to ‘em all?” “Gone to fight the Indians,” was the reply. There was nothing for Pony Bob to do but get back on his weary horse and head for the next station.
Upon arriving at Bucklands, he found much to his great relief, a new rider and horse. But his relief was short lived. Richardson refused to go. Nothing like that had ever happened before. “I weren’t quite sure if he was sick or just plain scared. All’s I know is he dumped the blanket,” Pony Bob later reported. So after switching the mochila (the special pouch that holds the letters) to a fresh horse, Pony Bob mounted and rode off. Thirty miles later, he got a new horse. Then thirty -seven more miles and another change of mounts. Finally he rode the last thirty miles to the next station where Jay Kelly relieved him. Pony Bob had come one hundred ninety miles and was ready for a rest. He went into the station and collapsed on the floor for some much needed sleep.
A little later, “Hey Bob, wake up!” roused him from a deep sleep. Pony Bob yawned and opened his tired eyes. “Eh,” he said, “What’s up?” “The western rider is, or rather he’s down. He fell off his horse and is too crippled to ride farther. Will you take the mochila, Bob?” Pony Bob yawned again and stretched. “How long have I been sleeping?” “’Bout an hour and a half,” the station master replied as he helped the injured rider to a cot. “Long enough,” Pony Bob said. “Saddle up.” In less than five minutes Pony Bob was in the saddle and was riding back over the same route that he had started on.
As he neared Cold Springs, the station where just a few hours before he had changed horses, he began to have a strange feeling that all was not right. He saw the station just ahead, so he sounded his horn. Nothing happened. He rode up to the door. All was quiet. Too quiet. Not a horse or a man was to be seen or heard. Pony Bob slowly opened the door and looked in. Much to his horror, he found five men dead. The Indians must have raided the station soon after he was there, killed the men and run off the horses. What should Pony Bob do now? Should he risk everything by riding his weary horse through the country that was alive with the red men? He decided to try, for the mail must go through. As he rode off from Cold Springs, he kept his eyes open for any sign of Indians.
At Bucklands, an hour or so later, division Superintendent Morley had just ridden in when Pony Bob arrived on his exhausted and foam covered horse. Morley listened with a grim face as Pony Bob recounted the story of Cold Springs. “Lay low until evening.” Morley ordered. “You’ve got no chance of escaping those Indian bands in daylight.” Pony Bob nodded and headed into the cabin to sleep until evening while Morley kept watch.
Nine hours later, Pony Bob was on a young & high-mettled mustang riding off into the gathering dusk, A few miles later he suddenly spotted some Indians! He lay low in the saddle, quietly urging his horse on, but at the same time keeping his eyes on the Indians. They didn’t see him. But a little later, Pony Bob suddenly heard something to his right. Glancing quickly over, he noticed several Indians on horseback coming his way. Just at that moment they also noticed him and began to chase. Pony Bob thought quickly, could his horse outrun the Indians’ mounts? He was pretty sure he could, so leaning forward in the saddle, he urged his horse on faster & faster. After chasing for several miles, the Indians left Pony Bob and disappeared into the darkness.
Finally, as dawn began to break, Pony Bob arrived safely back where he had started, and another rider took the mochila on. Pony Bob had ridden three hundred eighty miles with only ten and a half hours sleep, and safely delivered the mail.
Union Town
Nebraska Territory
. . . This month has been rather interesting because we have had a visitor, Pony Bob Haslam. He was traveling west, but the storms stopped him. He rode for the Pony Express years ago and has been with us now for two weeks. He is a great favorite especially since he told David that Storm was one of the finest horses he has seen in years. He tells the most interesting stories in the evenings about his life and even a few about the Pony Express. The boys said I have to tell you the story that Mr. Haslam told us last night. And they say I have to write it in story form. I told them that I wasn’t sure I could or that you would be too interested in it, but Ben asked, “She has brothers doesn’t she?” So, I will do my best.
It was a beautiful mid summer morning in Nevada when Pony Bob turned his steps in the direction of the Pony Express station. He had been a rider for some time and enjoyed it. Of course there were times of great danger and times when great wisdom was needed, but on the whole what could be more exciting then carrying the mail through snow & hail, cold & heat, outlaws & Indians? At the station Pony Bob waited for the rider to come in from the east. Soon he came, and Pony Bob was on his way west. His mustang made pretty good time, and Pony Bob saw no sign of Indians. He had ridden for quite awhile and just up ahead was the Reese River Station. There he would change to a new horse and continue on his way. His first horse was getting worn out. It had already carried him seventy-five miles that day. Just a little farther down the road was the station. Pony Bob blew his horn to let the station master know he was coming, so that he could get a new horse ready. But alas, when he rode up, there was the station master but no horse! “Sorry,” the station master said. “Don’t have any horses ‘round here a’tall. Not even a mule.” “What!” Pony Bob exclaimed. “What’s happened to ‘em all?” “Gone to fight the Indians,” was the reply. There was nothing for Pony Bob to do but get back on his weary horse and head for the next station.
Upon arriving at Bucklands, he found much to his great relief, a new rider and horse. But his relief was short lived. Richardson refused to go. Nothing like that had ever happened before. “I weren’t quite sure if he was sick or just plain scared. All’s I know is he dumped the blanket,” Pony Bob later reported. So after switching the mochila (the special pouch that holds the letters) to a fresh horse, Pony Bob mounted and rode off. Thirty miles later, he got a new horse. Then thirty -seven more miles and another change of mounts. Finally he rode the last thirty miles to the next station where Jay Kelly relieved him. Pony Bob had come one hundred ninety miles and was ready for a rest. He went into the station and collapsed on the floor for some much needed sleep.
A little later, “Hey Bob, wake up!” roused him from a deep sleep. Pony Bob yawned and opened his tired eyes. “Eh,” he said, “What’s up?” “The western rider is, or rather he’s down. He fell off his horse and is too crippled to ride farther. Will you take the mochila, Bob?” Pony Bob yawned again and stretched. “How long have I been sleeping?” “’Bout an hour and a half,” the station master replied as he helped the injured rider to a cot. “Long enough,” Pony Bob said. “Saddle up.” In less than five minutes Pony Bob was in the saddle and was riding back over the same route that he had started on.
As he neared Cold Springs, the station where just a few hours before he had changed horses, he began to have a strange feeling that all was not right. He saw the station just ahead, so he sounded his horn. Nothing happened. He rode up to the door. All was quiet. Too quiet. Not a horse or a man was to be seen or heard. Pony Bob slowly opened the door and looked in. Much to his horror, he found five men dead. The Indians must have raided the station soon after he was there, killed the men and run off the horses. What should Pony Bob do now? Should he risk everything by riding his weary horse through the country that was alive with the red men? He decided to try, for the mail must go through. As he rode off from Cold Springs, he kept his eyes open for any sign of Indians.
At Bucklands, an hour or so later, division Superintendent Morley had just ridden in when Pony Bob arrived on his exhausted and foam covered horse. Morley listened with a grim face as Pony Bob recounted the story of Cold Springs. “Lay low until evening.” Morley ordered. “You’ve got no chance of escaping those Indian bands in daylight.” Pony Bob nodded and headed into the cabin to sleep until evening while Morley kept watch.
Nine hours later, Pony Bob was on a young & high-mettled mustang riding off into the gathering dusk, A few miles later he suddenly spotted some Indians! He lay low in the saddle, quietly urging his horse on, but at the same time keeping his eyes on the Indians. They didn’t see him. But a little later, Pony Bob suddenly heard something to his right. Glancing quickly over, he noticed several Indians on horseback coming his way. Just at that moment they also noticed him and began to chase. Pony Bob thought quickly, could his horse outrun the Indians’ mounts? He was pretty sure he could, so leaning forward in the saddle, he urged his horse on faster & faster. After chasing for several miles, the Indians left Pony Bob and disappeared into the darkness.
Finally, as dawn began to break, Pony Bob arrived safely back where he had started, and another rider took the mochila on. Pony Bob had ridden three hundred eighty miles with only ten and a half hours sleep, and safely delivered the mail.
How many stories do you think I've published on here?
Did you enjoy today's "double feature"?
Does it seem strange to be thinking about a Christmas Play?
Don't have time this morning to read the story, but I love that poem so much! Happy Independence Day!!!
ReplyDeleteHappy Independence Day to you too, Ry! Thanks for taking a minute to stop by!
ReplyDeleteI guess you've published 200 stories on here. :)
ReplyDeleteYes, I enjoyed today's double feature! Is the story fiction or nonfiction?
Yes, it does seem a bit strange to be thinking about a Christmas Play. :)
Close, Leona!
ReplyDeleteThe story is a fictionalized account of an actual event about Pony Bob. :)
I know, Christmas play? Already? But if I don't want everything to be a stressful last minute thing, I have to start early. :P