Who Was John Stith Pemberton by Elizabeth Clements

Millions of people around the world may not recognize John Stith Pemberton’s name or even recognize his photograph, but they are devoted fans and consumers of his invention: Coca-Cola.

John Pemberton was born on July 8, 1831 in Knoxville, Georgia but lived most of his young life in Rome, Georgia. In 1848 he received his medical degree from the Reform Medical College of Georgia at Macon and in 1850, at the age of 19, received his pharmacist license. While there, he met Ann Eliza Clifford Lewis, a student at Wesleyan College, and they married in 1853 in Columbus, Georgia. Their only child, Charles, was born in 1854. Pemberton initially practiced medicine and surgery, but chemistry was his real interest and talent, and eventually he opened his own drug store In Columbus.

When the Civil War broke out in 1861, he enlisted in the confederate army and eventually rose to the rank of lieutenant colonel. In April, 1865, during the Battle of Columbus, he was severely wounded in the chest. During his painful recovery from a sabre wound, Pemberton became addicted to morphine. Not wanting to be dependent on the drug, he knew he had to find a morphine-free alternative cure for pain.

This led him to falling back on his chemistry background to find a non-addictive painkiller. In 1866 in his lab, he began experimenting with painkillers, plants and toxins (no doubt experimenting on himself). His first recipe was “Dr. Tuggle’s Compound Syrup of Globe Flower”, in which the active ingredient was derived from the button bush (Cephalanthus occidentalis), a toxic plant. He next began experimenting with coca and coca wines, eventually creating a recipe that contained extracts of kola nut and damiana, which he called Pemberton’s French Wine Coca.

He advertised his medicine and it sold well. Then in 1886, temperance legislation was introduced in Georgia over “public concern about drug addiction, depression and alcoholism among war veterans, and “neurasthenia” among “highly-strung” Southern women.  Pemberton’s “medicine” was advertised as particularly beneficial for “ladies” and all those whose sedentary employment causes nervous prostration,” forcing Pemberton to adjust his formula to make it non-alcoholic.”  

Forced to adjust his tonic to comply with the new regulations, Pemberton collaborated with Willis E. Venable, a drugstore owner/proprietor in Atlanta. All reference to wine was removed and a sugar syrup was substituted for the wine. Venable helped Pemberton tweak and test the formula, which contained extracts of cocaine as well as the caffeine-rich kola nut. Ironically, in one of the tests, when Pemberton wanted to make another glassful of the tonic, he accidentally added carbonated water to the base syrup. He liked the result so much that he decided to sell it as a fountain drink.

Frank Mason Robinson, Pemberton’s bookkeeper and business partner, came up with the name Coca-Cola as alliteration was quite popular in medicine wine circles. He thought using the two Cs would work well together. He also wrote the logo in beautiful Spencerian script. It was used on all the bottles and in advertisements. Pemberton made “many health claims for his product, touting it as a “valuable brain tonic” that would cure headaches, relieve exhaustion, and calm nerves, and marketed it as “delicious, refreshing, pure joy, exhilarating and invigorating.” 

On May 8,1886, confident of his invention, Pemberton took a jug of his syrup to Jacobs’ Pharmacy in downtown Atlanta. With the carbonated water added, the beverage “was sampled, pronounced “excellent” and placed on sale for five cents a glass as a soda fountain drink.”  

Sadly, Dr. Pemberton didn’t have long to benefit from his new venture. Despite all his efforts, he was never able to overcome his morphine addiction (and his many experiments on himself no doubt contributed to his illness). Sick and facing bankruptcy due to slow sales and the business initially running at a loss, he began selling off some of his rights to the formula to his Atlanta business partners. He had a vision that someday his beverage would be worth a lot and wanted to keep his remaining rights for his son’s financial security.  Charles, however, just wanted the money now, and Pemberton sold away his remaining rights to his formula to Aza G. Candler. Candler eventually bought up additional rights and gained full control of the company. (Note:  While the Coca-Cola Company denies this claim, historical evidence shows that it is likely that, until 1905, the soft drink, which was marketed as a tonic, contained extracts of cocaine as well as the caffeine-rich kola nut. While cocaine wasn't considered illegal until 1914, according to Live Science, Candler began removing cocaine from the recipe in the early 1900s, and traces of cocaine may have been present in the famous beverage until 1929 when scientists were able to perfect the removal of all psychoactive elements from the coca-leaf extract.)

On August 16, 1888, at the age of 57, Dr. Pemberton died of stomach cancer. It's interesting and gratifying to learn that on the day of his funeral there was a huge outpouring of respect for him. All the drug stores were closed in Atlanta so druggists could pay their respects. “On that day, not one drop of Coca-Cola was dispensed in the entire city.” The following day a special train carried his body to Columbus for burial. The Atlanta newspapers called him “the oldest druggist of Atlanta and one of her best-known citizens.”

Excerpt from Beneath A Fugitive Moon

“Buy you a drink, purdy lady?” Mike asked the red-haired woman in an emerald satin gown. He held his breath, never having done the asking before.

          She turned with a phony smile pasted on her painted lips. Her gaze hit his chest and travelled slowly up until she reached his face. Her eyes grew bigger, but to his amazement, her ruby mouth widened into what looked like a genuine smile.

          “Sugar, anyone who calls me a lady, let alone a pretty one gets the best.” She looked at the bartender. “Henri, your special for Samson, here. And give him an extra squirt of the syrup.”

          “Qui, Mol-lee.” Henri said in a soft southern drawl. He reached beneath the counter, removed a fancy bottle and splashed a knuckle-length of whiskey into a tall glass, then held it beneath the spigot of a three-footed urn that had some fancy red letters written across it, matching the ones on the clock. It dispensed some caramel-colored liquid. He added a shot of something that looked like water with bubbles, gave it a stir and with a flourish, set it onto the shiny mahogany counter.

          Mike glanced at Molly. “Ain’t you havin’ some?” The last thing he wanted was to wake up in an alley. That is if he woke up. He’d been in fancier saloons.

          “I’ll have mine without the whiskey, Henri.” The man took another glass and repeated the procedure, minus the alcohol.

          Mike pointed at the dispensers. “What’s the other stuff?”

          “You’re a careful one, aren’t you?” Looking him in the eye, she picked up his glass and took a drink. The barkeep handed Molly her glass and she took a healthy swallow of it, too. “Satisfied, Sugar, we’re not gonna poison you?” Heat climbed his neck. “Well, damned if you ain’t quick and bold.”

          He shook his head. Still, not knowing what to expect, he took a cautious swallow, blinked and took another. And grinned. “Hey, what’d you put into this? It don’t taste like rotgut.”

          “Coca-Cola is all the rage in Atlanta,” Henri said proudly. “Very medicinal. Mixed with carbonated water, it sells for five cents a glass. Adding whiskey is my idea.”

          Molly winked at Mike. “Henri’ misses Atlanta, so he’s trying to bring some culture to the wild west.”

          Sure his shaking hands would spill his drink, Mike tossed it back in one gulp. He needed all the courage he could get. It tasted like more. He plunked another coin onto the counter. “I’ll take another one of those.” With a swirl of his rag, Henri wiped the counter and the money disappeared with it. 

Candle Glow and Victorian Villages by Elizabeth Clements

Over the past few weeks, the North Pole has been on the minds of millions of children who have been captivated by movies of elves busily constructing and painting toys in time for Santa Claus to deliver them around the world on Christmas Eve. They have dreamed of finding that magical workshop, eating an endless supply of Gingerbread cookies, petting Rudolph and riding in the sleigh. Have you ever visited the North Pole, or know anyone who lives there?

I’ve never been there, and after the -37C temperatures we had here over Christmas, I have no desire to travel to that land of snow and ice. But it reminds me of a lady back in the 1980s, who traveled all over Alaska, holding Lund’s Lites parties. When the sun never climbed above the horizon what else was there to do on a cold, dark wintry night but get together with friends and have a party. A candle party. This lady thought nothing of driving 200 miles just to hold a home party and sell candles and things. She was always the company’s top seller, and no wonder. Lund’s Lites practically sold itself with just a look…or a sniff. To this day, when I think of her, I have to admire her courage to drive all those distances. I’m sure when her orders were shipped, the number of boxes, especially at Christmas, would make it look like an Amazon warehouse.

I remember one Christmas when I had 22 huge long boxes delivered to my house, which I had to unpack, sort out the orders, rebox for each hostess, then phone them to pick up their orders. My little guys just stood, amazed in their pyjamas, at all the stuff. It truly was like a scene out of Santa’s workshop, too, but my little elves didn’t have to work.

The founder of the company, Joyce Lund, was a Seattle stay-at-home mother who loved candles, and made them in a pot on her kitchen stove. She made candles as gifts for family and friends for Christmas and any other special occasion. They were so beautiful that she received special requests. One day, her dear friend, Doris, suggested Joyce should go into business, making and selling candles. Joyce knew nothing about selling. Doris reassured her that if Joyce makes the candles, Doris would sell them. And she did. And thus Lund’s Lites was born.

The company expanded quickly in the Washington area and a sub-office was opened in Langley, British Columbia, as young mothers like myself came on board to sell candles, votives, scented oil, bric-a-brac and silk flower rings. The specialty candle began with a plain white pillar candle. Then a photograph, wedding invitation, or any souvenir was dipped in a clear wax and pinned to the pillar. Special wax was whipped into a froth and dabbed on then sprinkled with silver or white glitter. Ribbons and flowers, the colors of your choice or that complemented the photograph colors, were pinned to frame the picture. The recipient of the candle would burn the candle long enough that a well formed, and after that she could burn a small votive and keep the “forever” candle intact. The flame helped illuminate the entire candle and photo. One could also add a drop of scented oil to the melted wax for a fragrance of your choice.

The spring line included colors of spring silk flowers and ornaments for Easter and summer, whereas the fall line featured Halloween and Christmas. In 1988, I think, Joyce introduced village buildings and people, made by Lefton china. They were good-sized houses and  beautifully painted, and included a plug in light to illuminate the houses. A school house was part of our basic fall kit but I always ordered more. . History lover that I am, I felt I wanted to display a village setting, thus for starters, I created what every village has: a house, a school house and a church. Of course I couldn’t stop with just three. By the time Lund’s Lites closed its doors a couple years later, I had acquired quite a personal village, complete with Victorian figures…and this was in the days before “houses” became popular.

I love my lighted village so much that in 30 years I've never put it away and enjoy it every time I step into my living room. It's not a good picture, but the only one I could find without family blocking it while unwrapping gifts). For me, a perfect quiet evening is resting warm and cozy on the sofa, stereo on low, reading, and often gazing at the houses. And of course there has to be a scented candle burning, as well.

I hope you enjoyed my little glimpse into one of the many simple things in life that leaves me with an inner glow. There is something about candlelight that is absolutely magical for me. I wish you a wonderful happy and healthy new year.

                                                www.elizabethclements.com

ARMCHAIR TRAVEL…OR THE REAL THING? by Elizabeth Clements

I can travel the world without leaving my chair, but nothing beats actually being there—especially if one is a writer. With armchair travel you use two senses, ears and eyes, but when you are physically there, you employ all five senses (and maybe even a little bit of ESP). That can make a huge difference in your perception and description of a setting in your writing.

The azure sea and pristine white beach can dazzle my eyes, but my toes will miss the silky feel of the warm water tickling my feet or the powdery hot sand that makes me quicken my step to a shady spot under a palm tree. In a video or movie I see leaves fluttering or a field of wheat dancing with the wind, but I don’t feel that seductive breeze combing through my hair. Dust boils under the pounding hooves of a horse racing across the stretch of prairie in Monument Valley. The bandana over my mouth and nose helps, but I cannot taste the grit in my mouth or scrub it from my skin and burning eyes. One of the sweetest sounds in nature is water rushing and furling over rocks studding a stream, or the roar of a waterfall with its spray misting my face, the melodic trill of a robin or the screech of a hawk soaring on an air current.

Being there makes such a difference and can add a richness and realism to one’s writing. This is why I am so grateful that I have been able to visit all the locales except one in which I have set my books. Actually being there has helped me feel what it would be like to be cooped up in a hollowed out wolf cave and breathe in that dirt for hours on end, like my heroine, Molly.

(Picture courtesy of Charlie Steel)

In one of my earlier blogs, I wrote about Sam Kelly’s Cave in the Big Muddy area of southern Saskatchewan. Two enlarged wolf caves situated a few yards from the International Boundary were used by cattle rustlers over a hundred years ago. One cave sheltered a couple of outlaws and the second cave hid their horses from view of the N.W.M.P. or marshals from across the border. I read about these wolf caves in a book written by a lady whose family had lived over a century on the same ranch in the Big Muddy. The cave I visited is situated on private land, but it can be accessed through a guided tour.  I was able to stand inside the cave, breathe in the cloying dirt, and used that experience in the third book of my trilogy, Beneath A Desperado Moon. Touring the underground Chinese tunnels in Moose Jaw gave me an even deeper appreciation of the horror of living in those underground tunnels with no whiff of fresh air or blue sky.

However, I took a bit of poetic license and had my caves in the Bearpaw Mountains of Montana, a little more to the west and south of the Cypress Hills, the main setting in my trilogy. I regret I was unable to visit this low range of mountains, a few miles south of Havre, Montana, but I have visited the town and have a “feel” of the area which is initially prairie and similar to the terrain surrounding the Cypress Hills. Further into the Bears Paw backcountry (also spelled as one word), the terrain becomes very rough and hilly, with lots of trees and hiding places for outlaws in the late 1900s.

My very first historical romance was inspired by a holiday in New Brunswick. While there, we visited a 19^th century working pioneer village called Kings Landing, about 20 miles west of Fredericton. I fell in love with the place and used it for the setting of By Love Betrayed. I have so many memories of that “village”, it being my first experience of how cooking meals from hooks suspended over burnings logs in a fireplace can fill a room with the scent of wood smoke that probably lingers, and how bread was baked in a Dutch oven nestled in the ashes and embers. If one happened to visit a certain cabin at mealtime, you were invited to partake with the costumed re-enactors. I had the same pioneer experience at Black Creek Pioneer Village deep in the heart of Toronto.

Visiting the Bay of Fundy in New Brunswick is an experience I’ll never forget. I sat on the boulders and rocks that lined the shore, steno-book in hand, and willed my Muse to provide me with inspiration. As I waited in the chilly wind off the Bay, I watched how quickly the tide moved in. By my feet was a dry, elongated rock that reminded me of the hull of a mast-less ship. Then one drop of water landed on it. And then another, and in an amazing short time, the rock was wet, then submerged. The water kept creeping higher. Being a land-locked prairie gal, I watched in fascination. And then I saw it. A young woman with long, wavy tendrils of blonde hair, bobbing like seaweed in the water. She wasn’t moving and in danger of drowning. Then off in the distance I heard a whistle and the scrape of claws as a dog bounded over the rocks. The jogger whistled again, but the dog kept whining and would not heed his master. Thus, the man had to get him, saw what had captured the dog’s attention, lifted the young woman into his arms and strode off into the sunset. End of vision. No matter how hard I tried, my imagination had strode off with that handsome, dark-haired stranger.

In the middle of the night I had such a vivid dream that I woke up, excited. I had my story, no doubt triggered by senses-overload from all the sights we had explored that day. I shook my husband’s shoulder, eager to tell him, but he told me to go back to sleep. I couldn’t because I knew I’d forget the dream. I had to stay awake—but my notebook was out in the car. I didn’t want to go downstairs and risk waking anyone up, so I lay awake for hours, running the dream over and over in my head until everyone was finally up, and I could get my notebook. I wrote down everything I could remember of the dream. But it had nothing to do with the unconscious lady in the bay!

(Picture from Wikipedia)
Another plus to visiting the Bay of Fundy was not only the amazing “flower pots” at opewHopeHi       Hopewell Cape where opewell Caitethe powerful 5-storey high incoming tides have carved out chunks of the rock. At low tide, one can see how the cliffs have been eroded over the centuries, leaving the beach dotted with vulnerable chiseled rocks, with pines growing at the top, ready to be knocked over by the next surge of the tide. Best get off the beach when the tide starts rushing in. My husband’s brother was stranded overnight on one of the “flower pots” until the tide went out again.

Near the Bay of Fundy is another bay which has a distinct “fishy” smell to the air, so unlike Fundy Bay and the water has a reddish cast to it, probably because of the high iron content. I would never have known that if I hadn’t personally experienced it by being there. We walked along the beach at low tide and saw saltwater draining from tiny shells and various seaweeds, some pod-like clusters like a bunch of grapes, all over the beach. Cape Enrage is well known for the tides flinging huge waves against the cliffs, but the night we went to see it, the bay was calm as a sleeping baby.

After our return home, I related all this to my friend over the telephone. Judith said, “I hope this is an historical!” It wasn’t, but I knew instantly I could convert it to an historical, instead of the contemporary romances I had been writing. Rachel could ride the train instead of driving a white sports car. And several weeks later, to my forehead-slap amazement, I realized that my lady in the bay was the beginning of the story after all. I finished writing the book, but, alas, I no longer have the word processor on which I wrote it. However, I do have the hard copy— but it’s a long, daunting job I’ve avoided in retyping from scratch. That is my some day project because I still love that story and would like to see it published.

In the meantime, I’ll share an excerpt from my latest published book, Josh and Molly’s story, in which I hope I’ve employed all five senses.

 

Excerpt: Beneath A Desperado Moon: 

 

            Riding further south into the wooded foothills of a low mountain range, Josh searched the distant rocky bluffs for a familiar landmark. He finally spotted the lone pine in a shadowed fold of the cliffs and aimed his horse in that direction. He let his horse pick his way over the rocks, climbing higher, and wasn’t surprised when a man stepped out from a screen of bushes and aimed his rifle at Josh’s chest.

            “That’s far enough.”

            “You know me, Charlie. I have been here before.”

            “Don’t mean nuthin’. You could be bringin’ the law with ya.”

            “Do you see anyone behind me?” Josh snapped, knowing full well Chase was a long way back, observing through his spy glass. They’d agreed it was safer that way for Josh not to be followed.

            “That don’t mean nuthin’.”

            “Bloody hell, you fool, I am not the only one wanted by the law. He killed three men on the stage this morning and kidnapped a woman. The law will be crawling all over the prairie like ants on an anthill.”

            “She’s sure a spitfire,” Charlie said, smirking.

            Josh’s stomach clenched. Charlie’s words confirmed Josh’s worst fears. At least she was alive. He nudged his horse past the outlook.

            “Hold your horses. I didn’t say you could pass.”

            “Take it up with Rocky. And don’t even think to use that rifle on me. The shot will be heard for miles.” Josh urged the horse around the overlapping jut of rock that shadowed the opening, making the entrance invisible to the casual observer.

            A few more feet brought him around another boulder and into a small sunlit valley lush with grass. A stream meandered through, providing water for animals and humans alike. Several horses and two cows gathered in the shade of huge cottonwoods that had roots nourished by the stream.

            Most of the outlaws preferred living in tents scattered near the entrance or out in the open while some had claimed the few caves that pockmarked the hills.

            Ignoring the curious looks of the men and women in the camp, Josh rode directly to Rocky’s tent, which had one side nearly touching the cliff wall. He didn’t have a full plan of action, just hoped the element of surprise and sheer guts would work in his favor.

            He needn’t have worried. The argument going on inside the tent could drown out a stampede of horses.

 

What's In A Name? by Elizabeth Clements

 

What’s In A Name? by Elizabeth Clements

FYI: Due to unexpected circumstances this weekend, I could not finish my blog and instead stayed curled up under two blankets and a space heater. It truly made me appreciate the pioneers who left their comfortable homes in the East to travel for weeks across unfamiliar lands and establish new settlements on the prairies. My city started as a tent city when the Canadian Pacific Railroad was being built to connect the country from ocean to ocean. Thus I'm reposting one of my very first blogs from October 2018 in which I describe some places out west with unusual names.

Have you ever looked at a map and been amazed by the plethora of interesting names for places, provinces and states? It’s interesting to see  the influence of native history in the naming of many places because they were the first inhabitants of the Plains. This is probably one of several reasons why I used the beautiful Cypress Hills as the setting for my book, Beneath A Horse-Thief Moon, because it was referred to as The Thunder-Breeding-Hills by the tribes that roamed the plains leading up to this vast forest. When the Métis fur traders arrived, they called the forest les montagnes des Cypres, which was mistakenly translated into English as Cypress Hills. There are no cypress trees here, mainly pines and aspens.

For the purpose of length, I shall restrict my blog to a few places in Alberta and Saskatchewan that derived their names from translations from the numerous First Nations people that roamed the western prairie provinces and American northern western states. Firstly, though, I thought I’d mention that my country’s name, Canada, was given by the French explorer, Jacques Cartier. The Huron-Iroquois word “kanata” means a village or settlement.

In 1535, two Aboriginal youths told French explorer Jacques Cartier about the route to kanata; they were actually referring to the village of Stadacona, the site of the present-day City of Québec. For lack of another name, Cartier used the word “Canada” to describe not only the village, but the entire area controlled by its chief, Donnacona.  It wasn’t until 1791 when Canada became the official name of our country.

Alberta was a territory until it became a province of Canada in 1905 (together with Saskatchewan) and was named in honor of the fourth daughter of Queen Victoria—Princess Louise Caroline Alberta. Famous Lake Louise in Banff National Park is also given part of that royal name. Saskatchewan derived it’s name from the Saskatchewan River, which the indigenous Cree people called Kisiskatcfhewsani Sipi, meaning “the swiftly flowing river”. This same river flows through Medicine Hat but is called the South Saskatchewan River.

When Sir John A. Macdonald decided Canada needed a transcontinental railway, the Canadian Pacific Railway was constructed. Many communities sprang up along the railway line. This was the case with Medicine Hat, which is the English translation of Saamis (pronounced Sa-Mus), the Blackfoot word for the “eagle feather headdress worn by medicine men”.

(tent city 1883 and railroad winter quarters)
Medicine Hat, the city where I live, has several legends for the origin of its name. The most popular version (and which I prefer) is that the Cree and Blackfoot had an altercation in the fork of the South Saskatchewan River. During the fierce battle, the Cree medicine man lost his headdress in the river; hence it became known as the place where the medicine man lost his hat.

Another legend  of this community’s name is about a mythical mer-man  river serpent named  Soy-yee-daa-bee—the creator, who appeared to a hunter and instructed him to sacrifice his wife to get mystical powers, which were manifested in a special hat.” I much prefer the official one that was chosen about the Cree medicine man.

There are a few interesting historical facts about Medicine Hat. Rudyard Kipling visited  Medicine Hat circa 1905 and immortalized it by saying it’s a city with “all hell for a basement” because the city is situated over a massive reserves of gas. That’s why our city is nicknamed The Gas City.

After the 1988 winter Olympic Games in Calgary, Alberta, that city was going to dismantle the large teepee they had built for the Games. One of our local citizens and art collector heard of the plan and initiated the purchase and it was dismantled and re-erected here. It was named the Saamis Teepee and is officially the tallest teepee in the world. Here is an award-winning photograph my son, Nick, took of the teepee during a lightning show. 

 Moving a little further west in the province, we have Calgary, known for the greatest outdoor show on earth, the Calgary Stampede. When the North-West Mounted Police (NWMP) established a fort there in 1875, it was originally called Fort Brisebois after a NWMP officer but in 1876  Colonel James Macleod renamed the post Fort Calgary for Calgary Bay in Scotland. The Scottish name is derived from the Gaelic words Cala-ghearridh, meaning pasture by the bay.

Part of the Blackfoot Confederacy, Lethbridge is located in the south-west corner of Alberta just a few miles from the Montana border and nestled in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. This area had many names, such as Coal Banks because of its rich deposits of coal. The Blackfoot called it Aksiiksahko or Steep Banks. It was renamed to Lethbridge in honor of William Lethbridge, a wealthy businessman.

However, besides coal, Lethbridge had a much earlier role when in 1869 the U.S. army outlawed alcohol trading with the Blood nation in Montana. Not to be outdone, two men set up a trading post near Lethbridge, selling mostly alcohol, river water, chewing tobacco and lye. It eventually became nicknamed Fort Whoop-Up. The NWMP took over, bringing law and order to the area. The fort stands today as a popular visitors’ stop and sometimes in the summer there are performances of the RCMP Musical Ride.

           Reesor Lake, Cypress Hills, Alberta side  Photo Nicholas Clements Photography

Moving east into southern Saskatchewan, we find the historic town of Maple Creek, which is just a few miles from the bulk of the Cypress Hills (which is the setting for my historical romance trilogy). For centuries this area was the winter quarters for the various tribes because of the abundance of firewood in the Cypress Hills. In 1875 the NWMP built Fort Walsh in the Cypress Hills, operating there  until 1883 when it closed the fort and set up barracks in Maple Creek because the railroad had arrived that spring. When the railroad reached the area, the crew quartered here and as was often the case, a tent town sprang up, followed quickly by families that left defunct Fort Walsh and resettled in this growing village. The community was named for the Manitoba maples that grew along the creek. It’s proximity to the Cypress Hills Interprovincial Park makes it a popular tourist center for exploring the park a few miles south.

Regina is the capital of Saskatchewan but prior to 1905 this flat area was  called the District of the Assiniboine and was the buffalo hunting ground of the Cree. The Cree only killed enough buffalo for meat and used the hides for clothing and covering their teepees. They piled the bones into stacks because they believed the buffalo would return to visit the bones of their herd. They called the area Oskana-Ka-asateki or “the place where bones are piled”. Sadly, the European buffalo hunters came along and shot the buffalo by the thousands for their hides. This is a picture of the bones being loaded onto rail cars for shipment to a bone factory.

When the fur traders came to the area, they dubbed the site Pile of Bones. The community grew, especially when homesteaders could claim 160 acres of land for ten dollars. In 1882, the town elders felt the settlement should have a more dignified name and decided on Regina, this being the Latin word for queen. Regina also became the headquarters for the North-West Mounted Police for many years and remains the training ground for the Mounties to this day.

An unusual name for a community was derived from the Cree who called the saskatoon berry misâskwatômina, which grows in abundance in the area. When the railroad created a settlement, they called the village Saskatoon.  In 1883 the Toronto Methodists wanted to escape from the bad influence of alcohol in the city and decided to set up a “dry” community. They travelled via the newly constructed railroad to Regina and then made the rest of the journey by horse-drawn cart. However, they were unable to buy a large tract of land to suit their needs, and simply integrated into the community.

Another unique name for a city is Moose Jaw. The Cree called it moscâstani-sîpiy which means a warm place by the river, perhaps because of the Coteau Range that shelters the valley. The beginning of the word, moscâ sounds a bit like moose jaw. Also, some people felt the nearby creek was shaped somewhat like a moose’s jawbone. The Dominion government decided to make Moose Jaw a major terminal because of the abundance of water supplies for their steam engines.

In 2000 I was fortunate to spend a few days in Moose Jaw to visit the wolf caves that were used by cattle rustlers and horse thieves in the late 1800’s. What a treasure trove of history and landscape. I actually stood (in the pictured wolf cave) and breathed in the suffocating smell of dirt. No wonder I  could draw on my reaction to this experience and use it in Beneath A Desperado Moon, Josh and Molly's story in my Prairie Moon trilogy.

Another experience—unforgettable—was visiting the underground tunnels in Moose Jaw. For decades the city officials denied these tunnels existed until one day a city bus fell through a cave-in and the secrets were exposed. One section of the tunnels shows where Chinese hid from persecution and worked for a pittance. The living conditions affected me so deeply that it compelled me to write a poem about it and that history bothers me to this day. There is another tunnel tour that explores the prohibition days and some very interesting tales, especially a female bootlegger who took unusual risks. I so have to go back to Moose Jaw and area.

When we left Moose Jaw after four days of exploring, we drove west toward Eastend and the rolling terrain where Sitting Bull once camped out after Custer’s last stand. This inspired yet another story idea and several chapters which I would love to finish this winter.

There are so many more Canadian places of interest, but I have to rein in my enthusiasm for fear of making you go cross-eyed from so many words. Thus, I just selected a few names that are associated with the “taming of the West”. If a vacation brings you to Canada, this is just a sampling of really neat places to visit and explore. I’d love to hear about some of the names of places that resonate with you.

Excerpt Beneath A Horse Thief Moon 

They emerged from a stand of pines. Moonlight whitewashed the coulees, etching in stark relief every bush and tree. The only sound in the night was the shuffling of their horses and the crickets in the bushes.

A horse thief moon, Sara had called it. In his mind’s eye he relived her unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from his body. Smoothing her callused palms over his heated skin before pressing her breasts against him.

Lovely, lonely Sara.

Damn it, forget her. She's dead and buried.

Anger at his thoughts made him speak. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Yuh'll see.”

Silence fell, broken only by the soft thud of hooves and the dog padding inches from his right stirrup. An owl's hoot drifted through the darkness. Occasionally, he heard a small creature scuttle in the dry grass.

Abruptly, the prairie plunged into another ravine. Through the trees below, the dark shapes of outbuildings huddled like orphans in the moonlight. The unmistakable odor of a barnyard drifted on the breeze. Horses nickered. A calf bawled. Water murmured and gleamed in a silver path around the curve of the coulee while the moon played hide and seek in the rustling leaves of a giant cottonwood.

Surprise kicked him in the gut. “Where are we?” But he already knew.

“Never mind.”

The old Cranston place. Coincidence that an outlaw had brought him to his quarry, a train robber's hideout? Not by a long shot. But why? Was Billy smarter than I’ve given him credit for?

Chase gritted his teeth. I’m gonna get you, Billy. You’ll pay for the grief you’ve caused Big Jake. His eyes narrowed when a low-roofed log cabin loomed in the moonlight. I'll outwit you and take you in. Maybe even tonight.

“Hold up,” the outlaw snarled. His rifle never wavered from Chase. “Git down. Slow-like.”

Chase frowned, staring through the deep shadows cast by a huge cottonwood. Why were they stopping here by the outbuildings instead of the cabin? And where were the lookouts? The fine hairs on his neck and arms prickled. This isn’t a gathering of outlaws. It’s an execution. But why here instead of back at my camp?

 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.clements.549

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17898781.Elizabeth_Clements

https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Horse-Thief-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07BHQNBDW/ref=as_li_ss_tl?

Beneath A Horse Thief Moon: http://amzn.to/2FVunRW

https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Fugitive-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07SZ4LHVS

Link for Diamond Jack’s Angel/Hot Western Nights Anthology

https://www.amazon.com/Western-Nights-Karen-Michelle-Nutt-ebook/dp/B07T9F21B5/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_3?

 

A SINGER, SONGWRITER, AND  COWBOY TROUBADOR by Elizabeth Clements

I’m proud to say that Canada has produced an amazing plethora of singers, some  famous world-wide—Paul Anka, Anne Murray, Justin Bieber, Sarah McLachlan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Brian Adams, Avril Lavigne, Drake, Alanis Morissette, Michael Buble—and some of them even recognized by one name: Celine, and Shania. And that’s just some of the singers that immediately come to mind. But there’s one Canadian I’d like to talk about because there is so much beauty, romance and poetry in Ian Tyson’s songs…“guided by stars that dance the polka to the horsethief moon…and by tomorrow night she’ll be shining gold and bright like a Spanish doubloon.”  Ian Tyson’s rollicking polka melody and description of an Alberta full moon in Horsethiefmoon captured my imagination and inspired part of the title for the first book of my trilogy. I didn’t begin to write it  until after I heard Garth Brooks sing about That Summer, inspiring me to think, “what if he comes back?” And thus, Beneath A Horse Thief Moon, the first book of my trilogy, was born over twenty years ago.

Ian Tyson is a singer, a songwriter, and one heck of a cowboy. He was born in Victoria, British Columbia on September 25, 1933, and grew up on a farm where his love of horses began, influenced by his fascination with stories and illustrations of cowboys, horses and the wild west by Canadian artist,Will James. He was six when he saw his first rodeo and that no doubt spurred him toward a cowboy life years later.

When he was fifteen, his skill with handling and riding horses got him a summer job of guided trail rides for tourists near Banff, Alberta. No doubt, that’s when the beauty of Alberta and the Rocky Mountains truly seeped into his soul.

He wasn’t happy at boarding school, nor later working in the forest services. It’s not surprising that his expertise with horses lured the 19 year-old to become a rodeo competitor for a few years. Unfortunately, one bronc bucked him off and stepped on Ian’s ankle, shattering the bone. While recovering in the hospital, he entertained himself with learning to play the guitar by listening to Johnny Cash. And somewhere in that process, he realized his true calling was to write and sing about the cowboy way of life. Country singer, Wilf Carter, also greatly influenced him in those early days while listening to The Grand Ole Oprey on the radio.

Inspired by his childhood love of Will James’ cowboy illustrations, Ian returned to British Columbia in 1954 to attend the Vancouver School of Art to become a graphic artist. There, the next year, he met Evinia Pulos, a young art student, and a life-long relationship began. At the same time, he made his first musical appearance at the Heidelberg Café in 1956.

   Two years later he graduated and hitchhiked to Los Angeles to try to win Elvinia back. He failed because she felt he was a heavy-drinking charmer with a roving eye who had broken her heart and thus she’d fled to California. Ian never returned to Vancouver and instead headed to Toronto to work as a commercial artist during the day and sing in clubs at night…and write songs.

In the late 50s, Toronto was the heart of Canadian folk music, where Ian met folk singer, Sylvia Fricker. They both performed in local clubs and by 1959 began singing together as Ian and Sylvia. By 1961, they sang full-time and began touring both in Canada and south of the border. They moved to New York in 1962 where they signed their first record deal and their first album, titled, Ian and Sylvia, was released.  They married in 1965 and their son, Clay was born the next year. A highlight of their successful career was a sold-out performance at New York’s Carnegie Hall.

In 1969 they formed the country rock group, The Great Speckled Bird. A career break came in 1970 when Ian was asked to host a Canadian music show, Nashville North. The show was so successful that it was renamed The Ian Tyson Show and aired until 1975, with Sylvia a frequent guest. Sadly, their marriage as well as singing together ended in 1975, although they remained friends. Sylvia was quoted saying their marriage failed because there was a third person in their marriage: Ian never could get over his first love, Elvinia Pulos.

Ian was a prolific songwriter. He wrote Four Strong Winds in 1962, which was an instant success, became his signature song, and remains his biggest hit ever since. In a later interview, Elvinia revealed that he had told her the song was inspired by his memory of her and that he wrote it in 20 minutes. Incredibly, Ian invited Evinia to visit him and Sylvia in New York in 1966 and they resumed a long-distance affair, despite them both being married.

When Ian released another album in 1967, it included a single he’d written called Summer Wages and again Evinia was the inspiration: “And we’ll keep rollin’ on till we get to Vancouver and the lady that I love she’s living there. It’s been six long months and more since I’ve seen her maybe she’s gambled and gone like summer wages.”

In the first five years of its release, Four Strong Winds was recorded by 50 other singers, including John Denver. Someday Soon, was also a smash hit. During their time together, Ian and Sylvia released 13 albums, the latter of which were described as country rock.

            Disillusioned by his divorce and the shift away from folk music because of the “British Invasion”, Ian headed back to his true roots, the beautiful foothills of Alberta, to raise and train cutting horses. When Neil Young recorded Four Strong Winds in 1979, Ian joked that the royalties provided him with sufficient funds to plunk a down-payment on his beloved mountain-view ranch in southern Alberta (where he has remained ever since).

            He gradually became involved in the music scene in Calgary, performing traditional country and cowboy music in local clubs, particularly at the Ranchman’s bar where he met Twylla, a seventeen-year-old waitress twenty years his junior. They began dating and married six years later. A daughter was born the following year. Twylla encouraged Ian to record his new-found love of country songs and by the late 1980s his ballads were climbing the Canadian country music charts. I believe this new contentment inspired some of his best songwriting, which beautifully reflects his love of ranch life and the cowboy way.

Sadly, this marriage also ended in divorce, finalyzed in 2008. Ian never remarried, although he stayed in contact with his ex-wives…and Elvinia Pulos, his soul mate.

Over his 60+ years in the music industry, Ian Tyson has accumulated a lengthy list of awards too numerous to mention them all here except being inducted in 1989 into the Canadian Country Music Hall of Fame. In 2005 CBC Radio One listeners poll chose Four Strong Winds as the greatest Canadian song of all time on the series 50 Tracks: The Canadian Version. Ian Tyson is also the recipient of The Order of Canada, the Governor General’s Performing Arts Award, and in 2019 it was announced he and Sylvia would separately be inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.

Ian Tyson is now 87 and his age shows in the lines in his face.  Around 2005, polyps developed in his throat. Therapy over the next six years helped him gradually restore his unique voice. Then in 2017 he had open-heart surgery. The tubes necessarily forced down his throat this time permanently affected his voice. He said he “misses his falsetto but can fake yodeling and hopes he can make it up with his storytelling.”

Regardless, fans still love to come to his three-man concert. I saw him in my town for the second time just a few years ago before his open-heart surgery. He sang all my favorites, especially Horsethief Moon. I’m smiling as I remember that night, a simple man wearing his traditional white Stetson, strumming his guitar and sharing his love of Alberta, horses and the cowboy way of life.

I could not describe this gifted octogenarian as well as this perfect quote of him: “Canadian Country Music Singer Pioneer Ian Tyson walks with a stiff-legged cowboy gait to the centre of the stage. A preamble to his performance. The walk is an illustration of what being a cowboy is all about. Falls off horses, bruises, broken bones as well as a reminder that the cowboy life is not the glamour of the old western movies. Just listen to some of the great recordings performed by Ian Tyson. An artist who has become a pioneer icon—a timeless singer with a bruised voice who tells stories with the unvarnished luster of truth.”

            The melody of a song can linger in my  mind all day, but it’s the poetry in Ian’s vivid descriptions of Alberta, horses, the Rockies, and a way of life that has me hitting the replay button to let the words paint pictures in my mind and add wings to my spirits. In that regard, Ian Tyson, Marty Robbins, and John Denver had to have been musical soulmates and I’m sure all three are singing and strumming together up in heaven. Thank God we have their albums to listen to and uplift.

            For me, Ian isn’t just a gifted songwriter with a warm, unique voice—he’s also a storyteller, so eloquent in Four Strong Winds, Navaho Rug, MC Horses, Horsethief Moon and his  incredible tribute, The Gift, in honor of the famous painter, Charlie Russel. https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Ian+Tyson+The+Gift&view=detail&mid=20DBED3856C3D3807E4A20DBED3856C3D3807E4A&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCBHS%26ptag%3dN8151D022719AAA0D337D47%26form%3dCONBDF%26conlogo%3dCT2174808%26q%3dIan%2bTyson%2bThe%2bGift

I love this photo of him which illustrates his love of horses. The photo is credited to (Ian Tyson and Friend Photo: © Lee Gunderson / IanTyson.com)

In 2008 he wrote a song. La Primera, about horses, and in 2009 published a beautifully illustrated young adult novel, La Primera: The Story of Wild Mustangs.   His song La Primera spawned a young-adult fiction book – La Primera: The Story of Wild Mustangs (2009).

His song La Primera spawned a young-adult fiction book – La Primera: The Story of Wild Mustangs (2009). An ode to Tyson’s own love of horses, the book features illustrations by gifted equine artist Adeline Halvorson and traces the introduction of Spanish horses to North America, through the evolution of wild mustangs (La

(Ian Tyson and Photo: © Lee Gunderson / IanTyson.com)

Biographer John Einarson, who wrote Four Strong Winds: Ian & Sylvia (2012), says Ian described Evinia as his soulmate and told him: “We’ve been lovers for 55 years…How many people can say that?”

Video for The Gift  https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Ian+Tyson+The+Gift&docid=608030192620801376&mid=94D0AD286FAB500A142B94D0AD286FAB500A142B&view=detail&FORM=VRAASM

Video for Horsethief Moon  https://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Ian+Tyson+Horsethief+Moon&view=detail&mid=2FFEC681A90F78D3E3E22FFEC681A90F78D3E3E2&FORM=VIRE0&ru=%2fsearch%3fpc%3dCBHS%26ptag%3dN8151D022719AAA0D337D47%26form%3dCONBDF%26conlogo%3dCT2174808%26q%3dIan%2bTyson%2bHorsethief%2bMoon

Excerpt Beneath A Horse Thief Moon

 

They emerged from a stand of pines. Moonlight whitewashed the coulees, etching in stark relief every bush and tree. The only sound in the night was the shuffling of their horses and the crickets in the bushes.

A horse thief moon, Sara had called it. In his mind’s eye he relived her unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it from his body. Smoothing her callused palms over his heated skin before pressing her breasts against him.

Lovely, lonely Sara.

Damn it, forget her. She's dead and buried.

Anger at his thoughts made him speak. “Where the hell are we going?”

“Yuh'll see.”

Silence fell, broken only by the soft thud of hooves and the dog padding inches from his right stirrup. An owl's hoot drifted through the darkness. Occasionally, he heard a small creature scuttle in the dry grass.

Abruptly, the prairie plunged into another ravine. Through the trees below, the dark shapes of outbuildings huddled like orphans in the moonlight. The unmistakable odor of a barnyard drifted on the breeze. Horses nickered. A calf bawled. Water murmured and gleamed in a silver path around the curve of the coulee while the moon played hide and seek in the rustling leaves of a giant cottonwood.

Surprise kicked him in the gut. “Where are we?” But he already knew.

“Never mind.”

The old Cranston place. Coincidence that an outlaw had brought him to his quarry, a train robber's hideout? Not by a long shot. But why? Was Billy smarter than I’ve given him credit for?

Chase gritted his teeth. I’m gonna get you, Billy. You’ll pay for the grief you’ve caused Big Jake. His eyes narrowed when a low-roofed log cabin loomed in the moonlight. I'll outwit you and take you in. Maybe even tonight.

“Hold up,” the outlaw snarled. His rifle never wavered from Chase. “Git down. Slow-like.”

Chase frowned, staring through the deep shadows cast by a huge cottonwood. Why were they stopping here by the outbuildings instead of the cabin? And where were the lookouts? The fine hairs on his neck and arms prickled. This isn’t a gathering of outlaws. It’s an execution. But why here instead of back at my camp?

 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elizabeth.clements.549

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17898781.Elizabeth_Clements

https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Horse-Thief-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07BHQNBDW/ref=as_li_ss_tl?

Beneath A Horse Thief Moon: http://amzn.to/2FVunRW

https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Fugitive-Moon-Prairie-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B07SZ4LHVS

Link for Diamond Jack’s Angel/Hot Western Nights Anthology

https://www.amazon.com/Western-Nights-Karen-Michelle-Nutt-ebook/dp/B07T9F21B5/ref=pd_rhf_se_p_img_3?