Early MORNING Serendity

It's summer with its incessant heat,

day after day of three digit temps

drains all energy and joy from me.

Then I discover early mornings,

rising long before the sun does

feeling the lingering coolness of night.

New awarenesses develop within,

as I pause to look and appreciate

the beauty of each day's arrival.

  This too shall pass...as seasons do,

but other days will bring new gifts

of color, coolness and promise.

A habit of gratitude can release

my frustration with minor irritations

as I understand the cycles of life.

Article #299 Discover Your Past

            There are stories to discover about your family’s past that are just as exciting as any current adventure movie. Jane Stevens of St. George shares her grandfather Marion Christopher’s experiences in the Klondike Gold Rush of 1898-1899. He was 27 when he went to Alaska, stayed one year, then came home and married Jane’s grandmother Tacy Baile in Warrensburg Mo in 1900.

This story about Marion’s life was written by his daughter Ana: Everyone wants to make their fortunes. Papa went, of course. It was the hardest thing a man ever did, sinking a hole. You’d build a fire in the a.m. out of wood, a hole about two feet wide and five foot long, like a grave. You’d keep that fire going till you burned the hole down thirty feet. At night, you’d clean the fire out and there would be two or three inches of ground melted; if lucky, maybe four or five inches at the most. You’d build another fire and so on. You could go eight feet down and the ground would still be frozen. It was that cold. The fire was going all the time except when cleaning it out.

            You had to go to bedrock. There’d be black muck to go through and then the bedrock which was gravel on top. You’d pan it out and take to the cabin. But if there was gold, you’d have to tunnel under. When you staked a claim out, you tried to get close to the fellow who had already found gold. Papa recalled: I had a dog sled and from five to seven Indian dogs, Malamutes. We’d have about three and a half hours of daylight. My partner and I went up river from Dawson walking. It was over 680 miles. It was rough going. Snow all the time. Fine mist would fall everyday and crust over the snow. We’d average about thirty miles a day when there was good trails. We followed the river trail up and down the river. On Gold Run Creek, we built our cabin.

            This same story could be about my own great grandfather Wm. Marion Johnson who left his home in Utah to go north to Alaska looking for gold. Leaving his wife and family, he never returned. What stories wait to be discovered as you search for your family’s past? How can you share these stories if you haven’t collected them? NEXT TIME: Learn from the Past. Need help getting started writing your family stories? Use Lin’s book: FIND YOUR VOICE: WRITE YOUR LIFE STORY with ideas for collecting and organizing your ancestor’s stories then editing and publishing them for your family. Only $10.

Patriotic Poem

Last April which seems ages ago I won an honorable mention for a poem I wrote in honor of my stepfather Earl Blomberg. It seems appropriate to share it on my blog in honor of all those soldiers present and past in our families that fought to preserve our freedoms and the freedoms of other lands.

THE OLD SOLDIER

by Lin Floyd

He sits quietly, won’t talk about the war.

Memories too raw to reveal even after decades.

We ignore grandpa, reading quietly in his chair.

Forgotten he is and remains until the day,

we ask questions about the conflict for his bio.

Suddenly he returns, recalls forgotten details.

Those days of long ago: sleeping in trenches,

eating spoiled K-rations, watching friends die,

killing young Japanese soldiers––just boys,

hating an unknown attacking enemy.

War is never pleasant to remember, difficult

to forget as dreams and memories linger on.

Now we understand his quietness, withdrawn

within to heal from wounds of body and spirit.

An old soldier rests from battles that continue.