Writing inspired by the places, people, culture and history of the Midwest.

“Food will win the war” – Women & WWI

June 18, 2013 By Leave a Comment

WW1 - Be Patriotic - PosterMy novel set during WWI has had me digging into how the war affected Americans in their everyday lives. A popular women’s magazine of the era, Ladies Home Journal showed that even before the United States entered the war in 1917, Americans were feeling the impact.

Articles in the February 1915 Ladies Home Journal described “fundamental lessons coming out of the war.” Among them:

  • Every American was being taught economy
  • Women were urged to look for products “Made in the United States of America” and to “Buy American”
  • People were urged to “think of the other person”
  • Readers were advised of the need for humility and interdependence
  • The magazine suggested that, “we’ve wrongly fostered a war spirit in children” (by giving children war toys for Christmas)

All of those actions were voluntary. In 1917, after the U.S. entered the war, what had been left to volunteer compliance became the purview of the government. Congress passed the Food and Fuel Control Act, also known as the Lever Act, and President Woodrow Wilson issued an executive order creating the U.S. Food Administration.

Herbert Hoover, former head of the Belgian Relief Organization won the job of Food Administration administrator. He accepted no salary, arguing that taking no pay would give him the moral authority to ask the American people to sacrifice in support of the war effort.

With the authority of President Wilson, Hoover became a “food dictator,” regulating the distribution, export, import, purchase, and storage of food. “Food will win the war,” Hoover proclaimed.

WWI - Food Will Win The War - Poster Hoover reached out to American women in August 1917 with a full-page article in Ladies Home Journal titled, “What I would like Women to do.” Here are some of the ways Hoover urged women to conserve:

  • Don’t throw food away
  • Order small meals
  • Have nutritional balance
  • Stop catering to different appetites
  • No second helpings. No 4 o’clock teas. No party refreshments. No eating after the theatre.
  • One meatless day a week, one wheatless meal a day, no young meat, no butter in cookies
  • Sign a statement of support

Food conservation continued to be a focus of the war on the home front. Another article provided women with these helpful tips:

  • Put two Fridays in every week
  • Use butter substitutes – beef & mutton fat, lard, sausage drippings
  • Eat meals from the garden. Preserve produce by pickling and canning
  • Use things you might have thrown away, e.g. make peapod soup, use outside lettuce leaves and scallion tops for salad, use crushed eggshells to clarify clear soup.

WWI - Eat More Corn - PosterWheat was an important export to Europe, so American housewives were urged to try new dishes using “war flours.” A few recipe ideas:

  • Corn meal and raisin gems
  • Bran drops
  • Golden corn tea rolls
  • Graham nut bread for sandwiches
  • Potato biscuits
  • Corn muffin dessert with spiced apples
  • Corn crullers
  • Graham and rye cookies
  • Steamed corn meal apple pudding
  • Corn and rice muffins
  • Pumpkin biscuits
  • Rice waffles
  • Use one cup of oatmeal in place of one cup of wheat flour in a griddlecake recipe.

In reading these lists, I was struck by how many of them my mother did as a matter of routine on the farm in the 1950s & 60s – cooking with bacon grease and lard, using cornmeal, pumpkin, and oatmeal in recipes. Gardening, preserving, using everything. Occasionally we observed meatless Fridays in deference to our Catholic hired men, but we had broader meat options than city dwellers. The squirrels and rabbits Dad shot were tasty.

I don’t know if those practices held over from the wars or if farm living simply lends itself to them. In any case, women answered Hoover’s call and went to their kitchens to help win the war.

Filed Under: Farm life, History, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , ,

What is the value of a letter?

June 10, 2013 By 14 Comments

When I was a kid growing up on the farm in the 1950s, I waited everyday for the mailman to stop at our mailbox. It wasn’t as though anyone was going to write to me, but any letter we received was exciting. Before email, Skype, texts, when telephones were used mainly for emergencies, letters were the common form of communication. Letters recorded the everyday; letters recorded the extraordinary. 

For writers, letters are a treasure trove. Where would David McCullough be without the letters John and Abigail Adams wrote to each other? All of the letters telling of their love for each other, their concerns about their children and the farm, their interest in affairs of state. 

Canada Ltr1

Letter from Wm. J. Johnston to Carl Jensen, Esq. Jan. 13, 1910

My maternal grandmother and grandfather were the inspiration for my upcoming novel set in pre-WWI Iowa. Because my grandfather died in 1918 and my grandmother never talked about him, the story I’ve created is fiction. In creating their world 100 years ago, I drew from many sources, among them a handful of letters my grandfather saved.

Canada Ltr2

$300 for three horses – 1910

Before he married my grandmother, Carl Jensen homesteaded in Canada. That didn’t work out for reasons we don’t know and he returned to Iowa. The letter I’ve included here is from one of his neighbors. As short as this letter is, it provided a wealth of information to inspire my writing.

Canada Ltr3

He would “Make a dicker” on farm equipment.

Among other things, I learned how people addressed each other, how they abbreviated names, the price of horses, what kinds of equipment they used.

Canada Ltr4

“… I will come in and get you and you can come out and batch for a while again.”

I learned that terms could be agreed to in a letter and both parties could be comfortable with that. I learned that the mailman didn’t come to every Canadian farm – Mr. Johnson was sending his letter into town to be posted by a neighbor who was going to make the trip to town.

On a personal level, the fact that my grandfather saved these letters said something powerful to me about the loneliness of farming on the Canadian prairie. Only a handful of letters from that era survive, but I treasure each of them.

I regret that we don’t write letters so often anymore. I wonder what writers of the future will use for their research? From time to time, I print out significant emails, but the fact that I print those and discard the others that deal with the mundane also says something.

What about you? Are you still writing letters? Do you save any that you receive? Writers – Have you used letters as research for your writing?

Filed Under: Farm life, History, Writing Tagged With: , , , , ,

Trusting my “baby” to beta readers

June 6, 2013 By 8 Comments
The Prose Crows book club knows how to make an author feel welcome!

The Prose Crows book club knows how to make an author feel welcome!

Sound the trumpets! Strike up the band! Last month I reached a milestone in writing my novel. I had a draft that was as good as I could make it. The story was complete. The characters were developed. There was lots of conflict. The historical setting and facts were in place. It felt good.

But not so fast. What do I know? Just because I like the story doesn’t mean anyone else will. The real test is in what readers think.

So I took the next step and put my manuscript in the hands of two groups of beta readers – people I’d gauged to be thoughtful readers, representative of my target audience. One group includes members of my own book club. I looked to balance the fact that these women know me really well with other readers who were not so familiar. The second group was the Prose Crows, a lively book club that had invited me to join them last February when they discussed my memoir Growing Up Country.

Along with the manuscript, I gave these volunteer readers a list of questions for reaction. Questions that ranged from overall reaction to the story, to story structure, and character development. Because I’m writing historical fiction, I also probed whether there was too much historical detail or too little and if they spotted anachronisms. I encouraged candor, assuring them I could take it. Whatever “it” was.

Letting go of the manuscripts made me anxious. My stomach roiled. My blood pressure rose. The feelings were akin to watching my five-year-old walk off to school alone for the first time. For the past month, my heart has been pushing out of my chest and into my throat. Anticipation – eager or anxious – can be uncomfortable!

Over these five weeks, I’ve lived with my vow not to revisit, revise, or rewrite even one word of the manuscript. Instead, I’ve focused on marketing, gardening, the incessant rain, pretty much anything to keep from thinking about reader reactions. By next Monday night, I’ll have received all the feedback. Then my baby will be back in my hands again. Then I’ll know what has to happen next. I am excited!

I know many authors use beta readers for that first level of market reaction. How have you chosen them? What guidelines have you given? What has been your experience?

Filed Under: Marketing, Writing Tagged With: , ,

How do you see the differences in writing fiction & memoir?

May 28, 2013 By 30 Comments

WritingSince I’ve written memoirs and am close to completing my first novel, when the question of differences in writing fiction and memoir came to me in response to a blog post, you’d have thought I’d be able to respond right off the bat. But, I was stumped. By definition, memoirs (based on the factual happenings in the author’s life) and novels (story made up by the author) are different, but how else?

Without making a conscious decision about style at the time, I blurred the lines between memoir and fiction when I wrote my memoir Growing Up Country as creative nonfiction. As author Lee Gutkind described it, “the primary goal of the creative nonfiction writer is to communicate information, just like a reporter, but to shape it in a way that reads like fiction.”

I use some of the same techniques in writing both memoir and fiction.

Visualization. Before I can write, I have to be able to see the places and people I’m writing about. Recalling the details for my memoir was as easy as closing my eyes and mentally walking into the barn on our farm, smelling new-cut hay, or seeing my grandma’s rolled down nylons.

To write historical fiction set in the WWI era, I had to be able to see the places and people just as clearly. I chose a Victorian house I’d been in often as my character’s home. That way I knew how the rooms flowed; I could imagine the furniture. I visited the Living History Farm in Des Moines where I talked with the interpreters at the 1900’s farm and attended a funeral at the 1880 Victorian house. I found pictures and videos. Anything that would let me immerse myself in the time so that it was as real to me as if I’d lived then myself.

Research played a role in both my memoir and in the novel. My family was the research source for the memoir. Memory plays tricks on everyone and to the extent I could, I verified the details I included about farm life. Research for my novel went to a much deeper level and took on a life of its own. I am thankful every day for the Internet where I can learn to drive a Model T or set up a professional photo studio. 

Though the techniques are similar, the challenges in writing memoir and fiction have been different for me.

Imagination vs. Reality – One of greatest challenges in writing fiction has been that I’m used to writing based on facts. The writing I’d done during 30+ years in public relations and marketing was journalist/business writing – all based on the facts of client products. My memoir was based on the reality of my life. With my novel, even though I started with a few actual places and dates and events in mind, the rest is the product of my imagination.

I’ve come to enjoy the ability to add people and events when the story required them.  When my manuscript was all but complete, I realized the need for another character and a minor subplot.  I was amazed at how simple it was to develop this man, create a life and motivations for him, and retrofit him into an existing story. It took some time, but I’ve come to revel in the freedom of “making it up.”

The Story Arc. Both memoir and fiction have to tell a good story. Structured as a series of relatively independent short stories, my memoir did not adhere to the standard novel story arc. Yes, there is a gentle progression in my memoir from stories when I’m younger to those when I’m a little older, from memories that are more naïve to those that are more mature and challenging. But these progressions are not as structured or dramatic as those of successful fiction.

Learning the craft of novel writing has been an ongoing delight, from inciting incident to crisis, climax, and resolution. In three acts. With escalating pulses. Some writers may know this inherently; I have to learn it. All fun, but a definite difference.

These are the similarities and differences I see in writing fiction and memoir. Writers – What differences do you see?  Readers – This could all be behind the scenes shop talk, but are there differences you see in the way fiction and memoirs are written?

 

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What seeds have you planted?

May 20, 2013 By 8 Comments

Tulip BrickSweeps of purple hyacinths. Multitudes of candy apple red, neon yellow, and peppermint stripped tulips. Majestic blue and white flag irises. A host of golden daffodils. Like magic, every spring my garden fills with this vast array of flowers and colors.

 

Recently, I woke in the middle of the night thinking about the flowers that burst into bloom each spring and it popped into my mind, You doofus! You prepared the soil, planted the bulbs, cleaned off debris in the fall. You did much to have the spring garden you love. Yet, as every farmer knows, the crop comes like the gift it is.

 

Twenty years ago or more, I opened my mind and heart to dreaming. I made a list, writing down all the things I could think of that I wanted to do someday. I remember two things on that list – bike all the trails in Iowa and write a book.

 

At the time, I knew little of what goes into writing a book, but I assumed, because I was a public relations counselor, that the book would address some aspect of that profession.  Even that seemed an unlikely dream.

 

Biking all the trails in Iowa was, however, imminently doable. I loved biking and could visualize weekend trips to all corners of the state as I pedaled away the miles.

 

It amuses me that the idea visualized clearly at the time is one that fell on rocky ground. Other activities became more interesting. I wasn’t willing to commit the time as more and more miles were added to trail maps.

 

Meanwhile, the idea that was most undefined, the one left to germinate in the dark recesses of my mind, is the one that took root. But, surprise! When the idea poked through to my consciousness, it was not a business book. Rather, I saw signs of a memoir about growing up on a farm in the middle of the country in the middle of the 20th Century. It took work – skill learning, multiple drafts, disappointment, pruning, more effort – to nurture that little sprout into a beautiful book.

 

And it took something else, something I could never have made happen. The right mentors, the right colleagues, at the right time. And time – time for the demanding work of putting one word after another on a page.

 

As with a gardener, a writer is always dependent on things outside of her control. How could I have known that writing down those long-ago dreams is like planting seeds. And that decades later, one would push to the surface. And now, only a few years later, another book, a novel set in Iowa during WWI is about to emerge.

 

In the midst of the flowering beauty of my garden, I bask in the outcome, forgetting what needed to happen for it to happen – seed planted in good soil, time for germination, and a combination of hard work and grace.

 

Whether one seed germinates, puts down roots and grows is a function of so many things. Moisture, seed vigor, nutrients. Over much a gardener has no control. But most certainly, the seed has to go into the ground.

 

Planting seeds. That’s what we do. Whether those seeds go into the garden or take root in my mind.  Whether the payoff is in a few weeks or next spring or decades later.

 

I wonder, sometimes, what else was on the list, but alas, it’s lost. What I have learned to trust, though, is that in this world where there are a million seeds for every plant that grows, so too, there will always be dream seeds I can plant, and then, when conditions are favorable, one will grow. When the season is right.

 

Filed Under: Farm life, Garden, Writing Tagged With: , , , ,

Ready to take flight? – A robin update

May 14, 2013 By 2 Comments
Three robins crowd a tiny nest.

Three robins crowd a tiny nest.

Only a couple of days ago, the baby robins – their little heads marked by wild bits of hair – could barely peek above the edge of the nest. Only when Mama flew in with a worm did they crane upward, their beaks wide open. I could not tell how many babies filled the nest. Two for sure. More than that? Impossible to tell.

Yesterday, however, the nest was packed. One of the young – probably the first to hatch – stood high in the nest, her speckled breast beginning to show a tinge of rust. She scanned the horizon, perhaps thinking of her first flight. Meanwhile her younger siblings still huddled low in a nest literally full to over flowing. Of necessity, someone would have to leave soon. There simply isn’t room for all of them to remain, they’re growing so fast.

One more day, oready to fly?

One more day, or ready to fly?

Today, only one bird remains in the nest. Her beak is wide open as she looks out to the maple tree across the way. Missing the warmth of her siblings? Feeling all alone? Looking for her mother? Hoping for one last meal before she’s on her own?

I scanned the shrubs and trees and lawn, looking for the juvenile robins who’ve gone before her. None were in sight.

As the young launch, I wish them well. I hope they will find lots of worms. I hope they will keep a sharp eye out for nasty predators. I hope they will choose wisely when they build nests for young of their own.

I have many hopes for the robins, as I did for my son when he left the nest. And I am amazed at these robins, as I was with my son, at how quickly they grow.

Other Robin posts:
Hungry & growing: A robin update
Life & Death in the Wild Kingdom
How to spend waiting time? A robin, writing update
And then there were four
A bird’s eye view

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Hungry & growing – A robin update

May 10, 2013 By 3 Comments
Mouths open, ready to eat!

Mouths open, ready to eat!

An experienced Mama Robin is very difficult to photograph. Her babies aren’t so easy to capture either. But I’m pleased to report that the baby robins in the downspout nest are making good progress.

 

As I passed by recently, Mama was dropping worms into wide-open mouths. As soon as I grabbed my camera, Mama flew off, probably hoping to attract me away from the nest. I snapped this picture before the babies got the word and retreated below the nest rim. You’ll need to look closely because the babies blend perfectly with the nest and the bricks behind them. Very good camouflage. There are at least two babies, maybe more, mouths up and wide open, ready to eat.

 

Mama doesn’t spend near as much time on the nest anymore. She spends more time shuttling back and forth, finding worms and bringing them back to fill hungry mouths. It helps, I’m sure, that the weather has grown modestly warmer. Mama’s food is more important to the babies than Mama’s body heat.

 

FYI, the windowsill nest is still in place but no one has returned to take up residence.

 

In other bird news, I looked up from reading the morning paper to see a Baltimore Oriole on the deck rail. My camera wasn’t handy, so I simply enjoyed the sight until the Oriole flew away. Then I quickly went for my camera and when I returned, there was an Indigo Bunting at the finch feeder.  I’ve never seen either Orioles or Indigo Buntings so close to the house.  In this picture, the Goldfinches are easy to see. Look to the bottom of the feeder and you’ll see the bright blue of the Bunting.

 

Two Goldfinches and an Indigo bunting

Two Goldfinches and an Indigo bunting

A bit of trivia courtesy of The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds, “Indigo Buntings have no blue pigment; they are actually black, but the diffraction of light through the structure of the features makes them appear blue.”

 

I love this time of year. So many birds migrating offer a continuous show! 

 

Other Robin posts:
Life & Death in the Wild Kingdom

How to spend waiting time? A robin, writing update
And then there were four

A bird’s eye view

 

 

Filed Under: Nature, Writing Tagged With: , , , , ,

Life & death in the Wild Kingdom – Robin Update

May 5, 2013 By 14 Comments

Robin Nest EmptyOne day, I looked past my computer screen, out the window to the front lawn, where a smallish bird pecked away at the wood chips under a Redbud tree. At that exact moment, a Red-tailed hawk swooped down out of the sky and captured the smaller bird in its talons. The hawk remained on the ground for the time it took to look around, then it flew off, the smaller bird firmly in its claws. If the smaller bird was not already dead, there’s no doubt it would be soon. The whole event took less than 10 seconds.

Wow! We had an episode of Wild Kingdom right in our yard. Excited by what I’d seen, I rushed to tell my husband.

We had another episode of Wild Kingdom in our yard yesterday.  Yesterday morning, I peeked at the robin nest on my bathroom windowsill, hoping as I did each day to see the eggs start to hatch. The eggs were still intact though the robin was away getting breakfast. That whole “early bird” thing. I went about my day.

That afternoon, I took another peek at the nest. Not only was the robin gone, but the nest was empty! All the eggs gone, no doubt to a predator bird. Possibly a Blue Jay. We have many of those in our yard and they’re known for robbing nests. 

As one reader pointed out, the window sill was a very exposed site. Perhaps the robin was a first-time mother, choosing the site for it’s warmth rather than safety. Since robins nest two or more times a year, perhaps she’ll come back to this nest or she may choose another site.  My husband agreed we’ll leave the nest where it is, just to see.

Nesting in a more protected site.

Nesting in a more protected site.

Looking for solace from our loss, I want to check on the nest on the downspout under the eaves. As I stood looking at that nest, which unfortunately I cannot see into, the mama robin arrived with a worm in her beak. The wide-open mouths of baby robins stretched above the edge of the nest and Mama shared the bounty. Having served lunch, Mama settled into the nest to keep the young warm while they napped.

I’m hopeful for this nest, protected as it is by the eave, downspout and corner of the house. But even that is no guarantee. My husband had a nest in just such a position on a downspout at his shop. The eggs hatched, the young were headed toward fledging. At that point, a hawk swooped in and robbed the nest. No robin has chosen that site since.

As another reader reminded me, reproduction is a numbers game. The more eggs, the more likely one is to survive. The very fact that robins lay clutches of multiple eggs and do it more than once a year speaks to the species knowledge that not all will make it. Maybe even that most will not.

What’s the message here? I guess one is that there are no assurances in life. We do the best we can, but we do live in a wild kingdom.

 Other Robin posts:
How to spend waiting time? A robin, writing update
And then there were four
A bird’s eye view

Filed Under: Nature, Writing Tagged With: , , ,

How to spend waiting time? A Robin & Writing Update

May 4, 2013 By 7 Comments
Robin incubating a clutch of eggs.

Robin incubating a clutch of eggs.

Waiting can be so difficult. That whole “watched pot” thing. Whether it’s 30 seconds to heat up the coffee in the microwave or 2 weeks for eggs to hatch – time just passes so slowly when you must wait for an outcome. I’m in that waiting phase in two ways now – with the robin nesting on my windowsill and with the novel I’m writing. 

Mrs. Red Breast moved from laying to incubating her clutch of four eggs. Though I left the shade up while she laid the eggs, now that she’s nesting, I’ve pulled it down to keep from startling her off the nest. An expectant mama just does not need to be startled or to worry about being startled.

Whether she worries or not, I don’t know. I’m likely ascribing my own emotions to her.  When she’s not on the nest, I worry if she’s abandoned it. Now that we’re experiencing an unseasonal and heavy snow, I worry the eggs will get too cold. I worry whether Mama can find enough food in the brief moments she flies away from her post.

To distract myself from my role as Chief Robin Worrier – I’ve been fortunate to have found the support of several readers who informed me a nest of eggs is called a clutch, and who shared links as well as their own knowledge of robin behavior. I thank all of you for your comments!  A few interesting things I’ve learned:

  • The American Robin is actually in the thrush family. Though immigrants to America named it after the European Robin, they’re not the same. The European Robin is similar in size and shape to some of our bluebirds.
  • Robins don’t listen for worms, though the way the cock their heads makes it appear that they do. Rather, one eye is trained on the ground watching for worms while the other eye is scanning the sky for predators. Here’s a link to more surprising robin facts.
  • American Robins can become trusting of humans; European Robins are not.
  • Even though robin nests look trashy, they are quite clean. Robins keep their nesting area and the nest itself cleared of insects.
  • The jury is out on when and how much the male robin is involved in caring for the young. Apparently it depends on how many babies hatch. Stay tuned. I’ll report on what I see.

I just love learning little things like this. Like Mrs. Red Breast, I am in the stage of anxiously/eagerly awaiting news of my novel, tentatively titled All She Ever Wanted.  This week, I gave draft copies to beta readers. This is the first time I’ve put my novel in front of readers who know nothing of the story and who I trust will give honest feedback on how or if the story works, whether the characters have depth and are believable, how well I’ve established the setting of rural Iowa during WWI. 

While I wait the next month for my readers to read, I’m figuring out ways I can distract myself from my Chief Novel Worrier role and do something productive. One thing I’ll be doing is working on a one-page synopsis of the novel as well as the critical cover blurb. Both of these tasks will require research and study and no doubt the help of others who’ve walk this path.

Writing novels and nesting birds. There are just so many similarities to these experiences. Don’t you think?

Other Robin posts: A Bird’s Eye View – And Then There Were Four

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Beauty & the Beast – Spring Snow

May 3, 2013 By 10 Comments
Magnolia tree bearing the weight of snow.

Magnolia tree bearing the weight of snow.

My predawn walk to the mailbox this morning was marked by the beauty of trees coated with snow. That kind of wet snow that clings to every branch creating the effect of a winter wonderland. The kind of winter scene we enjoy so much in December.

However, it is May. Magnolia trees are in full bloom. Our maple and ash trees sprout seeds and leaves. The grass is green and growing with enough vigor that we’ve already mowed and begun collecting grass clippings for mulch on the garden.

During my walk to the mailbox, I considered how pretty this record snowfall was in spite of its untimely arrival and planned to bring my camera out to capture this winter/spring visual delight when the sun was up.

How much can an old willow tree take?

How much can an old willow tree take?

Later, as I trudged through the snow, I faced the beauty and beast nature of this snowstorm. Snow against the raspberry sherbet redbud blossoms, the luxurious pink magnolia blooms, and the spring green tree leaves was striking in its beauty. However, already laden with heavy blossoms, the limbs of the magnolia tree drooped to the ground under the added weight. Some had cracked. Our old willow tree, already damaged by a heavy winter storm lost so many branches it’s hard to tell where the tree ends and the ground begins. Around me, the sound of tree limbs snapping punctuated the air. A beast tore through our landscape.

Unexpected green in a black and white landscape.

Unexpected green in a black and white landscape.

As I sit looking out my window, I mourn once-beautiful trees that appear to have had a bomb set off in the middle, I wonder if they’ll survive such an assault. I cannot help but think of the Boston Marathon. There, too, unexpected violence ripped apart a beautiful spring scene.

I take hope in that nature has a remarkable way of healing. Some of our trees may not survive. But I expect most of them will. The scars will be visible for years, perhaps forever, but the trees survive. In the Boston bombings, three people did not survive the assault. But most will. They’ll have scars, but most will survive. Nature and human nature. We survive.

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