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Florida Days
Book by Deland, Margaret Wade Campbell
200 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
About the author
Margaret Deland
114 books13 followersFrom Wikipedia:
Margaretta Wade Campbell was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania (today a part of Pittsburgh) on February 23, 1857. Her mother died due to complications from the birth and she was left in the care of an aunt named Lois Wade and her husband Benjamin Campbell Blake.[1]
On May 12, 1880, she married Lorin F. Deland. Her husband had inherited his father's publishing company, which he sold in 1886 and worked in advertising.[1] It was at this period she began to write, first authoring verses for her husband's greeting-card business.[1] Her poetry collection The Old Garden was published in 1886.
Deland and her husband moved to Boston, Massachusetts and, over a four year span, they took in and supported unmarried mothers at their residence at 76 Mount Vernon Street on Beacon Hill. They also maintained a summer home, Greywood, overlooking the Kennebunk River in Kennebunkport, Maine.[2] It was in this home that Canadian actress Margaret Anglin visited in 1909 and the two women looked over Deland's manuscript for The Awakening of Helena Richie. As Anglin reported, "I never spent a pleasanter time than I did while Mrs. Deland and I chugged up and down the little Kennbunkport [sic] River in a boat, talking over the future of Helena Richie."[3] The Delands kept their summer home in Maine for about 50 years.[2]
In 1910, Deland wrote an article for the Atlantic Monthly recognizing the ongoing struggles for women's rights in the United States: "Restlessness!" she wrote, "A prevailing discontent among women — a restlessness infinitely removed from the content of a generation ago."[4] During World War I, Deland did relief work in France; she was awarded a cross from the Legion of Honor for her work.[1] "She received a Litt.D. from Bates College in 1920. In 1926, she was elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters[1] along with Edith Wharton, Agnes Repplier and Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. The election of these four women to the organization was said to have "marked the letting down of the bars to women."[5]
By 1941, Deland had published 33 books.[2] She died in Boston at the Hotel Sheraton, where she then lived, in 1945.[6] She is buried at Forest Hills Cemetery. Her home on Mount Vernon Street is a stop on the Boston Women's Heritage Trail.[7]
Margaretta Wade Campbell was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania (today a part of Pittsburgh) on February 23, 1857. Her mother died due to complications from the birth and she was left in the care of an aunt named Lois Wade and her husband Benjamin Campbell Blake.[1]
On May 12, 1880, she married Lorin F. Deland. Her husband had inherited his father's publishing company, which he sold in 1886 and worked in advertising.[1] It was at this period she began to write, first authoring verses for her husband's greeting-card business.[1] Her poetry collection The Old Garden was published in 1886.
Deland and her husband moved to Boston, Massachusetts and, over a four year span, they took in and supported unmarried mothers at their residence at 76 Mount Vernon Street on Beacon Hill. They also maintained a summer home, Greywood, overlooking the Kennebunk River in Kennebunkport, Maine.[2] It was in this home that Canadian actress Margaret Anglin visited in 1909 and the two women looked over Deland's manuscript for The Awakening of Helena Richie. As Anglin reported, "I never spent a pleasanter time than I did while Mrs. Deland and I chugged up and down the little Kennbunkport [sic] River in a boat, talking over the future of Helena Richie."[3] The Delands kept their summer home in Maine for about 50 years.[2]
In 1910, Deland wrote an article for the Atlantic Monthly recognizing the ongoing struggles for women's rights in the United States: "Restlessness!" she wrote, "A prevailing discontent among women — a restlessness infinitely removed from the content of a generation ago."[4] During World War I, Deland did relief work in France; she was awarded a cross from the Legion of Honor for her work.[1] "She received a Litt.D. from Bates College in 1920. In 1926, she was elected to the National Institute of Arts and Letters[1] along with Edith Wharton, Agnes Repplier and Mary E. Wilkins Freeman. The election of these four women to the organization was said to have "marked the letting down of the bars to women."[5]
By 1941, Deland had published 33 books.[2] She died in Boston at the Hotel Sheraton, where she then lived, in 1945.[6] She is buried at Forest Hills Cemetery. Her home on Mount Vernon Street is a stop on the Boston Women's Heritage Trail.[7]
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
November 3, 2016
I don't particularly like watercolours. There's something so watery about them. At least you can't complain that the practice is misleadingly named.
This is a very watery travelogue of the Florida coast at the end of the 19th century. More impressionistic than observational. Washy dabs of white sand, palm trees, spiky Spanish bayonet plants, dilapidated wondenframe houses, conquina-built walls.
That's not to say it's a bad read. I quite liked it, though the tug was a gentle one. She was away with the breeze for the most part. When she actually stumbled into a Floridian, a genuine Cracker, he may as well have been the Man in the Moon.
One quotation should give you the idea:
'it needs the coquina wall gleaming faintly in the sunshine, and the breath of the drowsy air, and the shadow of the palm, to set the jarring atom of consciousness back into the tranquil and enfolding purposes of Eternity.'
Fittingly the watery words are accompanied by illustrations in, wouldn't you know it, watercolours.
This is a very watery travelogue of the Florida coast at the end of the 19th century. More impressionistic than observational. Washy dabs of white sand, palm trees, spiky Spanish bayonet plants, dilapidated wondenframe houses, conquina-built walls.
That's not to say it's a bad read. I quite liked it, though the tug was a gentle one. She was away with the breeze for the most part. When she actually stumbled into a Floridian, a genuine Cracker, he may as well have been the Man in the Moon.
One quotation should give you the idea:
'it needs the coquina wall gleaming faintly in the sunshine, and the breath of the drowsy air, and the shadow of the palm, to set the jarring atom of consciousness back into the tranquil and enfolding purposes of Eternity.'
Fittingly the watery words are accompanied by illustrations in, wouldn't you know it, watercolours.
Displaying 1 of 1 review