Mary R. Davidsaver's Blog, page 3

Lucia's Promise

 

Lucia’s Promise

By Mary R. Davidsaver

Not a bad turnout for the Saint Luciafestival of lights. Crisp night air and a couple of inches of snow makes itpretty and not too difficult for those who dress warm. There are always the fewnaïve, impetuous teenage girls who come with bare legs. Bishop Hill has neverbeen kind to vanity.

The store is crowded, packed attimes, but we are managing quite well. I’m handing out cheese samples, smiling,answering questions, and looking forward to a break. Sophie comes by to relieveme and I’m free.

As I’m straightening my apron andotherwise getting myself in order, a girl comes up and shoves something at mesaying in a small voice, “Hold this for a minute.”

Suddenly I have a bundle in my arms:it’s cold, heavy, and warm all at the same time. I’m startled. I frantically fumbleto keep from dropping it. I look down as the cover slips away and I see a tiny sleepingface. Looking up I see an ocean of coats and hats, but nothing of her.

This is great. Only a few free minuteson the busiest night of the year and I’m stuck babysitting for a stranger. Ihave all the luck.

Ok, I’ll give her 10 minutes, butonly if there’s no crying. All bets are off if there’s noise or odor.

So, I’m standing, rocking, trying toget back my pleasant looking “people face.” I scan the crowd, searching for thegirl. What did she look like? I can’t remember. Her coat? Blue. Maybe? It was waytoo fast, and I have a spotty memory even under the best of conditions.

“Be patient. Be patient,” I drone soothinglyto the child, and myself. “She’ll be right back.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve evenheld a baby. I don’t have the knack with the little ones; they usually cry whenplaced in my arms. I like them older and talking.

Studying the baby’s face, it doesn’tlook right somehow, too small, too splotchy. I can’t recall the last time I sawone like this.

I will myself to keep calm, looknatural, smile, when it comes to me—I’ve seen a face like this before, in ahospital—this is a newborn.

Crazy. Just plain crazy. Why wouldanyone hand so tiny a baby to a stranger?

I don’t like what I’m thinking next.Could it be? Did she just abandon her baby?

I’m so paralyzed with fear thatnothing comes out of my mouth. This can’t be real. I can’t make this kind ofdecision. No one trusts me enough to handle something like this. It’s too big.I could be wrong. I tell myself, I’m probably wrong.

Why? Why here? Why now? Crowds? She’slost and wants to stay lost?

What should I do? Pray? Beg? Plead toSaint Luciafor a miracle?

I’m looking around when I see her; wemake eye contact. She’s coming my way.

She’s not alone this time; there’s ayoung man with her. Man, hardly, they’re both just kids.

They make it through the crush ofbodies to where I’m standing, still rocking the baby.

“Thank you,” she whispers as shereaches out.

I hesitate. Stiffen. I wonder if it’sthe right thing to do. I give her a stern look and utter a low-pitched demand, “Don’tever do this again.”

She nods.

“Promise.” I glance at the tiny faceand back to her, “Promise.”

The young man takes a step forward.

She halts him with a small gesture. Thestrain on her face softens and disappears. She vows, “I promise.”

 

Copyright 2009-2023,Mary R. Davidsaver

 

 

One of the last events for atypical Bishop Hill tourist season is St. Lucia’s Festival of Lights. Ourversion of Lucia Night’s is held on the Friday and Saturday evenings on theweekend closest to Dec. 13, the traditional day it’s observed in Sweden. Afterdark, buildings are illuminated by a single candle in each window. Some usereal candles for this. The sidewalks around the village park and along MainStreet are also glowing with candles burning in white paper bags set out byanyone who wants to add to the magic of the experience.

 

My story, “St. Lucia’s Promise,”came to me as I was walking home from one Lucia Night. I had gone past theColony Store and by the time I turned the corner by the Bjorklund Hotel, I hadall the essential elements in place. It was my first work of fiction during atime I wrote mainly for newspapers.

 

St. Lucia’s Promise was first publishedas part of Winter Worlds: Three Stories in 2017.

 

AI and the Author

 

Ever wonderwhat would happen if you asked an AI chatbot if it has read your book?

Well, recentlysuch a question was posed of Google’s Bard, “Are you familiar with the book ‘CloudsOver Bishop Hill’?”

Here was Bard’sresponse:

 

”Yes, I am familiarwith the book Clouds Over Bishop Hill by Mary R. Davidsaver. It is amystery novel set in the small town of Bishop Hill, Illinois, a former Swedishcommunal society. The story follows Shelley Anderson, a young woman who istrying to escape Bishop Hill and go to college. However, she is drawn into amystery when she discovers a long-lost painting by the folk artist Olof Krans.

The book is well-written and suspenseful, and itprovides a fascinating glimpse into the history and culture of Bishop Hill.Davidsaver does a great job of developing her characters and creating a senseof place. The book is also full of interesting details about Swedish folk artand culture.

Clouds Over Bishop Hill is a great read forfans of mystery novels, historical fiction, and books with strong femalecharacters. It is also a good choice for readers who are interested in learningmore about Swedish culture and history.

I hope this information is helpful. Please let me knowif you have any other questions.”

 

It’s polite, flattering, and obviouslyan edited mixture of the back cover blurb and a few quotes.

I wouldn’t have expected the AI tohave read my work with enough care to offer up digested thoughts and views ofany depth, but this was competently done and even in present tense. Heavenknows I’d be hard pressed to write something about myself that came off so nice.

The kicker for me was the tag-endcautionary warning:

“Bard may display inaccurate info,including about people, so double-check its responses.”

 

Not being able to leave well enoughalone, I had to pose a similar question to Microsoft’s Bing.

Here was that response:

Yes,I have heard of CloudsOver Bishop Hill by Mary R. Davidsaver. It is a novelabout Shelley Anderson, who wants to escape Bishop Hill, a former MidwesternSwedish communal society, by earning her college diploma. However, a recklessdriver sends her off the road and into the mysterious past of folk artist OlofKrans. Drafted into finding Krans’s last painting, her only clues are an oldwoman’s dreams and an uncle’s guilty conscience. Shelley navigates betweenmuseums and restaurants trying to determine if the old woman’s cloud-inspireddreams of Krans’s 1915 studio are real. She’s not the only one on the hunt forthe lost Krans. After 93 years,how dangerous will it be to actually discover it? 12

If you have read the book,I would love to hear your thoughts on it!

Again, that’s straight off the backcover with a little bit of editing. But what about the last bit? The invitationfor further engagement?  Who’s it after?The author? The reader? More training info for its database? Your guess is asgood as mine, and with all the current turmoil centered around ChatGPT one does have towonder how things will shake out.

Yolanda J. Ortega 1948-2022

 

The firstcasualty of the Covid-19 pandemic for me was losing touch with my oldest friend,Yolanda. She had a birthday in early March, and I had plans to drive down to Aledoto meet her, share some old memories, and have a snack of some sort. EarlyMarch of 2020 was when the news of Covid-19 and the emerging pandemic emergencygot serious. I agonized for days and days over whether to cancel my trip. Therewas too much at risk for her and for my husband and me. I canceled my visit. Itwould be well over a year before I saw her again. The decision still haunts me.

 

Yolanda andI met when we were both twenty-somethings working for the University of Iowa. Iwas a clerk third-class filling in time while trying to decide if I’d go backfor my B.A. degree or not. She was two years older, a Knox grad, an art majorwho was hired as a graphic artist. Her cubby-hole office was barely visiblefrom my workstation in East Hall. The attraction was immediate, I just had tofind out how a real artist operated. So yes, I was a pest who became a friendover the time we worked in the same department.  

 

I was therewhen she, as a single woman, bought a cute little bungalow not all that farfrom my grandmother’s house. I helped at her housewarming party when she madeFrench onion soup for the whole neighborhood as well as for friends, family,and co-workers. She had a fantastic memory and a wide range of interests. Weshared discussions about science, printmaking, and her trips to England tovisit her pen pals over cups of black Oolong tea sweetened with honey. I wasthere when she adopted her first cat. Or perhaps the cat, pregnant as it turnedout, sensed an easy mark, and adopted her.

 

She stayedin Iowa City while I moved away first, to marry and have children, but cameback to visit as often as I could. She taught me the invaluable lesson thatfriendships never really have to end. That time and distance apart didn’tmatter; we could always pick up right where we left off.

 

Years latershe would move to Bishop Hill and enticed my move there by encouraging mydreams of living the artist’s life. We both invested time and money inproperties from Bishop Hill’s colony past. Unfortunately, her house, a rural colony-erastructure in dire need of saving, was in much worse condition than mypost-colony one. Her grand plans for restoration and repurposing the house alltoo soon outstripped her resources and her health. The last few years ofdecline brought her to a rehab facility in rural Illinois.

 

She died onthe morning of Halloween one year ago. I didn’t find out about it until a mailedgreeting card was returned to me. I can’t help but speculate that she, with herfine-tuned sense of anglophile humour, would have found a way to make herpassing funny, interesting, or even a little prophetic. I felt her sparse obituaryleft out the essence of her spirit. It failed to flesh out a life that waslived the way she wanted. A life filled with books, art, poetry, genealogy, anda whole lot of rescued cats, neutered for the most part, and one rescued dog. On this one-yearanniversary I stop to ponder the void that was left behind. And raise a cuppatea in her honour.

Review for Libertie by Kaitlyn Greenidge

 

I thoughtthis felt like a YA book in the early pages with the young Libertie learningabout her situation, unique for that time period in US history, as a freebornnegro. Her mother was respected as a doctor, healer, and a landowner. All thatturned into teenage angst when the mother’s expectations for a daughter clashedwith Libertie’s feelings of inadequacy and her desire to choose a differentpath. It later turned into anger as she got older and more rebellious. It lastedpretty much for the rest of the book with little change until the very end whenshe was about to give birth to twins and had found aid in escaping her marriageto a husband who couldn’t keep his promise of equality for his wife.

I didn’thave a grasp of location until much later in the book when it was finallymentioned they lived south of the East River in Brooklyn. I didn’t know of anyhistorical black community in that area. I guess creating the small-town feelwas more important. I found out about Weeksville before reading the endnotes. I was impressed at how the author used historical facts for the book. The1863 Draft riot that turned into a race riot was very poignant and developedmore than I’d been exposed to in other books and movies.

I’m a bitconcerned that it may have not totally benefited the character development ofthe protagonist. She came off as stubbornly whiney. More willing to run fromher problems than confront them. Not first-class, story-grade heroine behavior.However, the end notes say that’s what the author was after, a kind of everywoman.

The writingstyle was better than average with plenty of insightful passages, but I hadproblems in following dialog on several occasions and had to reread a few longcomplex sentences to find their intended meaning. All cases of falling out ofthe narrative.

I liked theinclusion of letters for plot development and appreciated that they werereadable (in a different font?).

The endingleft me wondering if it is a setup for another book that will continueLibertie’s story.

Review for Monarchs and Milkweed by Anurag Agrawal

 

When my husband gifted me a cornerof our new urban yard to use as a garden. His Valentine’s Day surprise was removingthe sod and working the soil. My dilemma, what to do with it? It didn't takelong to settle on growing milkweed for monarchs. I'd witnessed the fallmigration passing through Austin, Tx, and had an overnight roost of butterfliesin our trees in Bishop Hill, IL. I was sold. Getting my neighbors on board tooka little more time. Now I get compliments on the sweet aroma of floweringmilkweed and the pleasant sight of fluttering adult monarchs.

Along the way I've had many years of learningthe ins and outs of raising several types of milkweed and how to manage some ofthe dangers that lie in wait for monarch caterpillars. Everything about theseexperiences has been enlightening, from discovering the existence of parasiticflies and wasps to witnessing the metamorphosis to adult monarch, over and overagain.

Now, I have to include Anurag Agrawal's book,Monarchs and Milkweed, as an amazing discovery for my education. I've gottennew information on nasty pests, the mysterious OE, and tips on butterflybehavior. I've had several of my thoughts, based on my observations, confirmed.I have a new outlook on moving forward due to the interplay of a toxic plantand an insect as herbivore that Agrawal has provided.

There's a treasure trove of information and thescience to back it up. Yes, there were times when I had to make myself keepreading. It was worth it to get a better understanding of the chemicalinterplay of the pertinent toxins, cardenolides, and the monarch's defensiveadaptations. A chemical arms race is not a bad analogy.

The quality of the printed hardcover book wasimpressive. As were the photos. Who couldn’t love the photo of a Blue Jaybarfing after eating a monarch? Agrawal and his crew of supporters have createdan important and lasting contribution to monarch research for years to come.Five stars is not enough.

 

P.S. Citizen Scientists.

This is the part of the summerseason when foster parenting monarch caterpillars, helping them survive toadulthood, is the most rewarding--the great migration south is coming up.

In Monarchs and Milkweeds, Anurag Agrawal,goes into the history of how the secrets of the monarch’s migration were eventuallyrevealed. Discovering the details of the routes north and south was a processthat spanned decades and involved recruiting “citizen scientists” to help witha butterfly tagging program to figure it out and ultimately find the main overwinteringsite in Mexico.

Now there is another push for “citizenscientists” to help researchers. The call this time is to gather deadbutterflies, moths, and skippers to send in for testing.

I missed out on the original taggingprogram because I was too young. I’m going to miss out on this call because I don’tlive in any of the target states of Alabama, Georgia, Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma,and Texas. Still, I like the idea of butterfly enthusiasts contributing to findinganswers.

NOTE: There is a Nov. 1 deadline forsending specimens in to the USGS LRC. Find out more at:

https://www.usgs.gov/news/state-news-...

 

Ode to the Librarian Revised

 Ode to the Librarian

By Mary R. Davidsaver

 

The forecast calls for a fine hot Iowa day.

Dog walkers pass by on their early rounds.

A dragonfly hovers over my garden.

Gold finches dart between host and nectar plants.

I savor a light caress of coolness,

Before the heaviness of corn sweat descends.

 

One Monarch touches down on a milkweed leaf.

Then quickly launches itself at another.

I left those “weeds” to stand tall and straight this year.

If prairie winds knock a few down,

I save the leaves to feed caterpillars.

Not so many this season.  

 

Few found my urban spot.

A small space devoted to Monarchs.

My contribution to raising migration numbers.

This morning I released six new butterflies.

A milestone for this meager year.

I share that on this day of remembrance.

 

The day we gather to celebrate a life of service.

Honoring a librarian to generations of children.

Who nurtured their curiosity with books.

Gave them a peek into the author’s craft.

Sent them out into a world not of their own making.

They have the chance to challenge, to create, to change.

 

Six Monarchs flying into the unknown.

Each having the chance to make a difference.

I knew little of the librarian’s life.

Only enough to know she would be pleased.

She always had a ready smile and a kind thought.

Happy to share a moment of joy with any one of us. 

2022 Monarch Releases

 

I have released 26 Monarchs as of 8/20 with 2 in the chrysalis stage and one still munching on leaves. I have a Monarch momma out in the garden still laying eggs. Which is good since we had a late start to the season in the Davenport, Iowa area because cool spring weather.

I released this year’s first Monarch on 7/25. Last year I had released 23 before that date.

I collect eggs laid outside in my suburban garden dedicated to milkweed and from other people who ask me to take in their eggs.

Last year, I lost a lot of caterpillars with them turning black and dying. I had one with OE. I also had caterpillars parasitized.

This year, I’ve only lost three to turning black and dying: one hatchling, one large cat, one in a chrysalis on the second day. No sign of OE this year. No parasites.

I took in four large cats, close to final stage, just to see how they are doing health wise in the main garden. I believe that is where my failures came from. (I had them isolated in containers.) The hatchling came from nearby and was one of four eggs I hatched. I’m not sure if it died because of something I did or didn’t do. I have had trouble in the past with hatching eggs, leaves drying up too soon. I did better this year with daily moisturizing small individual leaf sections with each egg and placing them on whole leaves, everything stayed viable longer. I then placed the hatchlings on milkweed cuttings I gathered from the yard (escapees from the garden area). This was very much like the racks of test tubes that are sold on some sites, only I’m using small bottles.

I began noticing the differences between caterpillars last year and figured out which ones were going south, or somewhere else. It’s interesting that the majority of my released butterflies this year have been larger females and are not staying around. Out of 26, I’ve seen 5 males. Not like past years at all.

I’ve had a registered Monarch Waystation since 2014 and started raising caterpillars in 2019 when I got tired of not seeing any adult butterflies.

A Review Of: The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing by Richard Hugo

 

What I want to remember:
"A poem can be said to have two subjects, the initiating or triggering subject, which starts the poem or 'causes' the poem to be written, and the real or generated subject, which the poem comes to say or mean.... [discovery]. C1, P4

"Once you have a certain amount of accumulated technique, you can forget it in the act of writing. Those moves that are naturally yours will stay with you and will come forth mysteriously when needed." C2, P17 [I've tried calling it training the unconscious/subconscious parts of the brain. And yes, they will be there when you need them.]

"No semicolons. Semicolons indicate relationships that only idiots need defined by punctuation. Besides, they are ugly." C5, p40 [:)

Nuts and Bolts, chapter 5, was my favorite chapter.

Chapter 4, page 30, gives us the writing exercise from Hell. Hugo goes on to insist it often got his students to produce their best work.

Other quotes worth remembering:
"You are someone and you have a right to your life." C6, P65
"Writing is a way of saying you and the world have a chance. All art is failure." C7, P72 [Don't be so hard on yourself.]

I found this little book helpful for those occasions when I pretend to be a poet. It's useful for the other times as well.

Bouchercon 2022

 

I’m the author of two cozy mysteries set in the village of Bishop Hill, a former communal society of Swedish immigrants founded in 1846 on the Illinois prairie of Henry County. I consider that place and its history as important to my work as any other character.

I haven’t been to a big mystery-based conference since the solar eclipse almost overlapped Killer Nashville in 2017. I was part of a panel then, I don’t recall the exact title, probably due to the last-minute changes that shuffled me off in a different direction from my original request. I’ve waited months to find out how I’d fare with my Bouchercon 2022 panel placement.

When I first looked through the list of my fellow panel members for the upcoming Boucherconin Minneapolis, I couldn’t figure out why B. A. Shapiro seemed so familiar. I went to my bookshelf, to the area where I keep the special books, the ones I used for reference, background, and fact checking—and there she was!

The Art Forger was one of the few books I’ve ever allowed myself to mark up. I remembered how her information on noted forgers of the past and the prevalence of forgeries in general were eye opening and aided the development of my forger in Clouds Over Bishop Hill, my first cozy mystery.

I checked through my blog posts and found that Shapiro and The Art Forgercame to my attention through a library sponsored book club. I went on to mention her and the book three times on posts between 2014 to 2015, basically the time period between NaNoWriMos, National Novel Writing Months. I credited her with helping me work with POVs and providing some technical terminology. Much needed since I didn’t have a strong background in painting.

This time around I and my book are part of a panel that will discuss the merits of The Mystery of Multiple Points of View and Multiple Timelines.

 

Along with B.A. Shapiro (The Art Forger), I’ll be sharing space with

Marty Ambrose (Lord Byron Mystery series),

William Boyle (Shoot the Moonlight Out),

Julie Carrick Dalton (Waiting for Night Song),

and Stanley Trollip (Wolfman), as moderator.

[These titles only represent a small sampling.]

 

This Bouchercon conference might be the best ever for me. I can’t imagine having a better experience than spending quality time with these authors.

 

Bouchercon 2022 Minneapolis, September 8-11

https://www.bouchercon2022.com/

 

https://marydavidsaver.blogspot.com/2014/11/first-person-present-tense.html

https://marydavidsaver.blogspot.com/2015/08/getting-things-right.html

https://marydavidsaver.blogspot.com/2015/11/nanowrimo-2015.html

NOTE: Clouds Over Bishop Hill was republishedSep 2021.

Please use: ISBN #978-1737956822

Find links for Clouds Over Bishop Hill and Shadows Over Bishop Hill at: https://marydavidsaver.weebly.com/

Or find me at the conference.

Ode to Rochelle A. Murray, Aug 6, 2022

 

The forecast calls for a fine hot Iowa day.

Dog walkers pass by. Out for early rounds.

Same with gold finches. A dragonfly hovers over my garden.

All savor the light touch of coolness. Before the heaviness of corn sweat descends.

 

One Monarch visits the blooming plants. Briefly rests on milkweed leaves.

I left them to stand tall and straight this year.

The prairie winds have knocked a few down. I save the leaves to feed caterpillars.

Not so many this year. Only a few Monarchs found my urban spot.

 

I devote my small garden to Monarchs.

It’s my contribution to raising the migration.

Today I released six new butterflies.

I share that with you on the day we gather to remember Rochelle.

 

To celebrate her life of service as a librarian to children.

Who nurtured their curiosity with books. Gave them a peek into the author’s craft.

Then out into a world not of their own making. Six butterflies fly into the unknown.

They all have the chance to challenge to change to make a difference.

 

I only knew a little of Rochelle’s life.

Just enough to know she would be pleased.

She was always there with a smile and a kind thought.

She’d be happy to share a moment of joy with any one of us.

Releasing a Monarch butterfly at Davenport's Fairmount Library.

July 29, 2018