Friday, March 17, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: Ablutions and Indian Dogs


Without a doubt there is one thing we four MacBeath children
who attended my father’s school in Lansdowne House remember,
and not with fondness:  the daily government health program. 
We all, including my father, disliked it for various reasons.


Church of England Indian Day School
Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario
Photo by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


My father wrote of this program in Indian schools throughout Northern Ontario
in his unpublished handbook for northern teachers:

“Another problem faced by the Indian teacher,
and incidentally, a constant source of irritation and frustration,
is the modification of the normal school program
which is necessary to accommodate the health program
being carried on by The Indian Affairs Branch
and The Department of National Health and Welfare.  

The Indian children rarely wash before coming to school,
and they quite frequently do not have breakfast before school.
The Indian families do not have regular meal hours like white people do.
In a lot of families, it is rare for the whole family to sit down together for a meal.
Something is usually boiling on the stove,
and the members of the family just eat when they are hungry.

Because of the irregularity and haphazardness of the eating habits,
and the fact that the children do not wash too frequently,
our health programs are practical rather than theoretical.

The teacher is expected to do his best to clean and nourish the pupils in school.
In the morning after the opening exercises, the pupils have a period
when they wash their hands and faces and brush their teeth.
The soap, towels, and toothbrushes are kept in the school,
and it is responsibility of the teacher to see 
that the various toilet articles are kept reasonably clean.

In addition to the ablutions period, the teacher has to dispense
powdered milk and vitalized biscuits twice a day to the children,
usually before the morning and afternoon recesses.  
The vitalized biscuits and the powdered milk are provided
in quite ample quantities by the branch to be dispersed by the teacher in school.  

It is quite a nuisance having to mix up the powdered milk twice a day 
and to make sure that the utensils and drinking cups are kept clean.  

It is very time consuming too, 
but when you see how much the children like the milk,
especially the little ones, 
it seems to be more than worth the effort.



Some of Dad's Little Ones
Photo by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



The biscuits, on the other hand, cause you very little trouble
but are not very popular with the children.
I think the main difficulty with the biscuits is their appearance.
They are sort of like a better grade dog biscuit.

They remind me of the biscuits that my father used to feed to his foxes
when we had a large fox ranch back on Prince Edward Island.
They are flat, hard, light brown in color with a slight cinnamon taste,
but as nourishing as all get out.  

One or two biscuits constituted a very adequate supplement to any diet, and
six biscuits were sufficient to maintain health and strength over quite a period of time.
The children were not too fond of them, but I always made sure
that each child ate at least two biscuits a day.

There was one boy by the name of Soloman
who had me puzzled for quite a time.
He would take all the biscuits that I would give him.  

One day just to see how many he would take,
I let him take as many as he wanted.  
He took sixteen biscuits.  

I asked him why he liked them so much,
and he told me that he did not like them, he hated them; 
but his dog loved them.  
Oh well, at least the dog was well nourished.”


My Father's Handbook
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


What my brother Roy, my sisters Donnie and Barb, and I remember
with intense dislike is the wretched lumpy powered milk.  
The biscuits were edible, but the milk was ghastly.  

My father expected the four of us who attended school 
to model everything for the Indians.  
So we too had to wash our faces, brush our teeth, 
eat the biscuits, and drink the milk.  
Getting the milk down was doubly hard because 
we always ate a good breakfast before school, 
usually hot porridge with more powdered milk.

At some point during the first two or three days, Dad realized
I was helping my mother bake bread and prepare meals at home.
He decided I was capable of mixing up powdered milk twice a day.
He showed me how, and one of his irritating chores became mine.

There was a small room at the back of the classroom 
where our coats hung, the oil stoves sat, and supplies were stored.
Twice a day I dragged a cardboard drum more than half my height
out of its storage area, dug out cups of milk powder, 
and dumped them into two five-gallon buckets of water.  
Then I stirred and stirred, trying to squash all the lumps 
on the sides of the buckets until that milk was frothy.  

The overpowering smell of several cubic feet of milk powder 
in that drum threatened to upend my stomach as I prepared the milk.  
No wonder my father pawned that chore off on me!  
I was always thankful to secure the cover on the drum and stash it away.


Dad's Children in His Classroom
The storage room was behind the white wall.
Photo by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


Then the Ojibway children and my less enthusiastic siblings lined up 
with their cups, ladled out a serving, and headed back to their desks
to eat their biscuits and drink their milk.  

All of us were welcome to go back for as many servings of milk as we wanted
until the buckets were empty, and extra biscuits were available on my father’s desk.  

We four would force down our milk; 
Roy glugged, Donnie stalled, Barbie pretended and shared, 
and I gagged my way through the dreadful, blue-white liquid. 
At least the biscuits had a better flavor.

Soloman’s dog was not the only Indian dog getting fatter.  
A number of times I saw my two younger sisters
slip government biscuits out of their pockets and toss them 
to the dogs hanging out near our back door step. 



The Four of Us Who Attended Dad's School
Back:  Roy and I
Front:  Barbie and Donnie with Gretchen between their feet.
Photo by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


Our school did not have running water.  
Dad had to carry the water for mixing powdered milk
and cleaning the buckets, cups, and toothbrushes 
from the nearby DOT waterhole or from our home.  

He strained the water through cheesecloth 
and purified it by adding a few drops of chlorine bleach, 
because the lake water was dangerous for human consumption.
The nurse Mike O’Flaherty had confirmed this fact 
after he, Dad, and Duncan McRae collected water samples 
from around the peninsula and those samples were tested.


Dad crosses the peninsula on a water-sampling excursion. 
Photo Likely by Mike Flaherty
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue 
All Rights Reserved


Dad went through a short period when he had Mom boil 
the school’s water on our kitchen stove, and he hauled
the heavy buckets of boiled to school twice a day.  

Soon he conscripted Roy and me to haul the water after lunch 
from home to school for the afternoon powdered milk.  
The path though the bush was long and narrow, 
and we slopped more water than we managed to carry to school.  

Boiling and lugging water so far proved to be onerous and time-consuming, 
so Dad soon reverted to straining lake water through cheesecloth
and purifying it with Javex.     

All classrooms have their daily routines,
but this government health program in the Indian schools took the prize.





Till next time ~
Fundy Blue



Boars Head Lighthouse
Tiverton, Long Island, Bay of Fundy
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved




For Map Lovers Like Me:
Lansdowne House, Ontario, Canada


Lansdowne House
Surrounded by Water
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



Lansdowne House and the Father's Island, 1935

Credit: Canada. Dept. of Indian Affairs and Northern Development
Library and Archives Canada / PA-094992




Saturday, March 11, 2017

Technical Challenges ~ LOL!





Just in case you're wondering why I'm taking so long to reply 
to your comments and visit your posts.
This is what I have to do right now to access the internet!
LOL ~ Too many friends stopping to chat in the lobby
or breezeway to get anything done!
I'll be by as quickly an I can!
Aloha! 

Friday, March 10, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: A Spin on a Little Ski-Dog


The first time I saw a Ski-Dog, 
it came racing along ice-bound Lake Attawapiskat, veered sharply, 
and roared up the snow-covered hill in front of our school,
stopping abruptly near the steps.
Father Ouimet hopped off and dashed inside the school
to visit my father before recess ended.


Father Maurice Ouimet with My Father Don MacBeath
Photo Probably by Uno Manilla
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


All the children on the playground immediately crowded around the strange object
laughing and chattering, including my siblings and me.
It was an unknown thing to we MacBeath children,
but not to the Ojibway children who had become very familiar
with Father Ouimet’s marvelous machine.

I had no idea at the time, but this strange apparition
was about to take the north by storm.


View from the Edge of the Playground
with Lake Attawapiskat and the Hill in the Background
Photo Probably by Uno Manilla
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



Have you ever raced over snow and ice on a Ski-Doo?
Felt that exhilerating rush of cold air and spray of snow?



Rotax powered Bombardier SKI-DOO XRS 800


I have, and chances are I did it before you!

When Father Ouimet returned outside from visiting my father,
he offered me a chance to ride on his Ski-Doo.

Of course I didn't pass up the chance,
but I'm not sure which made me more nervous,
to ride on a motorcycle with skis
or to wrap my arms around a Roman Catholic priest and hang on tight.

We flew down the hill and made a big, looping circle
out on the frozen lake, bumping over mounds of snow
and throwing up roosters of white.

The snow sparkled in the brilliant sunlight,
and the cold air stung my face and watered my eyes.
I'm sure my siblings and the Ojibwa children watching
from the top of the hill could hear my delighted shrieks
and Father Ouimet's laughter above the growl of the engine.
It was one of the most exhilarating events in my life.

All too soon we flew back up the hill, 
and my brother Roy took his turn behind Father Ouimet. 

Okay, granted the first Ski-Doos were manufactured in 1960,
and I didn't ride on one until early March 1961,
but I rode on the very first Snow-Dog!

"Snow-Dog?" you might ask?
Yes, Snow-Dog.

Were it not for a publisher's error in a sales brochure,
Ski-Doos would have been Snow-Dogs.




Joseph-Armand Bombardier invented the Snow-Dog, 
a small, lightweight snowmobile 
designed to replace the dog teams used for transportation 
by hunters and trappers in remote areas of the north.

He had previously developed large tracked vehicles
that could hold up to twelve people.
In fact, Bombardier gave one to Father Ouimet in 1949.

But what was really needed in the north was a machine for one or two people,
something that would make Father Ouimet's work easier in his northern parishes.
Ouimet suggested this to his friend Bombardier,
and from this idea Joseph-Armand created the Ski-Doo. 


This is a late wood-bodied Bombardier B-12 snow bus,
similar to the early one Father Ouimet had and slept in.
Circa 1951


In 1948 Joseph-Armand built a wooden prototype of a small snowmobile ~

 
You Tube ~ Ostieguy


And in the winter of 1959 Joseph-Armand hand-built the first two Ski-Dogs.

In April, 1959, he personally delivered one of them by bush plane
to his long-time friend Father Ouimet in Lansdowne House.

As readers of my northern posts may remember,
my family and I were life-long friends with Father Ouimet.

Little did I know when I rode with him on his Ski-Dog
that I was riding on an invention that would change the north
and launch a new winter recreational sport.


1960's Ski-Doo Clips
Racing in Kirkland Lake, Ontario 
Birth of the Snowmobile
You Tube ~ Leo C.



Father Ouimet reminisced about these vehicles 
in French radio program about his life:  
Here is my rough translation: 

"Imagine I am the first ski-doo owner in the world!

Mr. Armand Bombardier of Valcourt gave me a snow mobile
that could seat 12 people in 1949. 
It was amazing but too heavy and very difficult to transport in our regions. 
I suggested building a device for a passenger of my height. 
This idea caught on ...

... Mr. Bombardier came by plane to bring my snowmobile on April 15, 1959. 
This fast means of transport has impressed the Indians."
(with the help of Google Translator and some dictionaries)



Very Similar to the Large Snowmobile
Father Ouimet Had
You Tube ~ Yvon Beaudet 

This novel form of transportation fascinated the Ojibway community,
and Bombardier presented Father Ouimet with the Ski-Doo
which he went on to thoroughly field-test in Lansdowne House
during the following winters.

A four-stroke Kohler engine powered this first Ski-Doo, 
and a single rubber track as wide as the machine propelled
its steerable wooden skis. 

In 1960 Bombardier Limited manufactured 225 Ski-Doos in Valcourt, Quebec,
and fourteen years later it produced its one millionth!

Unfortunately Joseph-Armand Bombardier died in 1964
and did not live to see that one millionth machine,
but his wife and Father Ouimet were present
for the celebration of this milestone in August, 1973.


Joseph-Armand Bombardier (1907-1964): 
Getting Around in the Winter [philatelic record]:
 Joseph-Armand Bombardier: vision et détermination
Library and Archives Canada


Father Ouimet's personal Ski-Doos were important to his priestly
and missionary duties in the remote Oji-Cree villages west of James Bay.
He and I corresponded over the years, 
and sometimes he mentioned his Ski-Doos.


On December 18, 1982
Father Ouimet wrote to me:

"Well, I am still in this world.  
Still in good shape, but getting older every day ~
Pretty near 71 years old.
Should be retired ~ but no way ~ nobody to relieve me.

I am alone in charge of 5 missions:  Lansdowne House,
Fort Hope, Ogoki, Webique, and Summer Beaver.

Travelling a lot.
Last winter I covered 8,258 miles by snowmobile.
That's a lot of fresh air."


On January 11, 1986
Father Ouimet wrote to Terry and me:

"Still living, only 74 years old, still a young man.  
Like ever, I am running on a snowmobile.
I have a very nice machine in fact,
a Christmas gift from my friend ... Bombardier."



Father Ouimet's first Ski-Doo, the one I rode on,
was obtained by the The Museum of Ingenuity J. Armand Bombardier in 1969.
Sled Magazine 

Father Ouimet was honored for his role in the history of the Ski-Doo
by carrying the Olympic Torch for the 1988 Calgary Winter Games
on a 1988 Bombardier Ski-Doo.

Calgary Herald
Sled Magazine 

This was the first time the Olympic Torch was carried by snowmobile.
Father Ouimet led off the snowmobile contingent near Shanty Bay, Ontario on its 1,740 mile snowmobile journey from Shanty Bay to Prince Albert, Saskatchewan.

For a photo:  click here 



No Snowmobile for My Father,
Only His Trusty Snowshoes
Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1961
Photo Probably by Duncan McCrae
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



The last time I rode with Father Ouimet,
it was under much different conditions.
My sister Barbie and I had braved a frigid night
to cross the ice to the Father's Island 
to watch the Saturday night movies in the rec hall.

When it was time to leave, the temperature had plummeted way below zero,
the Indian dogs were howling in the bitter cold,
and the wolves were answering from the ice.

Father Ouimet stopped Barbie and me on our way out
and told us that he thought he should run us home on his Ski-Doo,
the night was so cold, and it was too dangerous
for the two of us to cross the ice alone.

So we waited and watched as Father Ouimet,
in his black cassock with a roped Crucifix hanging from his waist,
rewound the film reels and slipped them into their metal shipping cases,
banked the fire in the stove, and tidied the hall.

The Ojibway were long gone by the time he was finished,
and we followed Father Ouimet over to the Mission
under a sky filled with bright stars and weaving, dancing lights.
The sounds of the dogs and wolves were primal,
and Barbie and I were glad of the ride home.

Barbie clung to Father Ouimet, I held on to both of them,
as the little Ski-Doo left the Mission and roared across the ice to the Mainland.
We all were wrapped against the bone-gnawing cold,
but the frozen air burned our lungs and eyes.

Yet again, all too quickly, our ride was over,
and we hustled into our toasty kitchen with Father Ouimet.
Our appreciative parents fortified him with a cup of hot tea
before he disappeared into the northern night.

As long as I live I will not forget Father's Ouimet's wonderful Ski-Dog!

Weaving Dancing Lights
Flickr:  Emmaneul Milou  ~ License







Till next time ~
Fundy Blue


Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved






Notes:  

1.  Transcript of an unidentified, undated radio show:
     Mémoires du Père Maurice Ouimet o.m.i. 
     (Monastère des Pères Oblats Cap-de-la Madeleine)
     Thanks Jean-Claude Gilbert O.M.I. Superior

2.  Miles to Kilometers:
     8,258 miles = 13,290 kilometers
     1,740 miles =   2,800 kilometers

3.  Joseph-Armand Bombardier:
     For more information about the inventor of the Ski-Doo and other machines check out this link:
     Musee Bombardier
   


For Map Lovers Like Me:
Lansdowne House
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved




Lansdowne House, Ontario




Original French Transcript:
"Imaginez que je suis le premier propriétaire de ski-doo au monde.  M. Armand Bombardier de Valcourt m’a fait cadeau d’une snow mobile
qui pouvait asseoir 12 personnes, en 1949.
C'était épatant mais trop lourd et très difficile à transporter dans nos régions.
Je lui ai suggéré de construire un appareil pour un passager de ma heuteur.  
Cette idée a fait son chemin ... (omitted sentence below.)

... M. Bombardier est venu par avion me porter ma moto-neigge le 15 avril 1959.  
Ce rapide moyen de transport a épaté les Indiens."
(Mémoires du Père Maurice Ouimet o.m.i.)


Omitted Sentence:
Le 28 mars 1949 je couchais an arrière de mon ski-doo.
(On March 28, 1949, I slept in the back of my Ski-Doo.) 



Friday, March 3, 2017

The Lansdowne Letters: Hungry Heart


Do you remember the first time you truly connected with another on a deep level;
not child with parent, or sibling with sibling,
or even friend with friend, but heart to heart,
where you shared your innermost thoughts and dreams?

Early sexual experiences can have a profound impact in shaping a person, 
but I would argue that entangling your heart can be more consequential.


Peninsula and Island
Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario
Credit: Canada. Dept. of Indian Affairs and Northern Development
Library and Archives Canada:  PA-094992


I was catching up on a crate of mail the week before last
after returning from Bullhead City, Arizona,
and I came across an interview with the The Boss 
in the December 2016 issue of AARP The Magazine 
(Bruce Springsteen: "What I Know Now," p. 16)

Springsteen said, "The first 18 years really shape you forever.
It's like a glass of water filled with mud.
You can pour clear water in until it appears clear,
but there's still mud there." 

His words resonated with me because they struck me as so very true.
My life was largely shaped by six months in 1961, 
March through August, 
although certainly my teenage years added more definition.
A lifetime of hosing down hasn’t removed the mud of that year.


Lansdowne House
Looking Toward the "Mainland" on the Tip of the Peninsula
Photo by Donald MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue


I realized when I read the comments to my last post that some people
were thinking that I had a sexual relationship with an Ojibway boy.
Sorry about that ~ nothing is further from the truth.

But that doesn't mean that I didn't develop deep relationships,
much to the consternation of my parents.
My father used to joke that we had to get out of the North
because I kept falling in love with Indian boys.

And it's true.  
The Ojibway boys I met in Lansdowne House, Lac Seul,
and Sioux Lookout were far more interesting than the white boys.
They were exotic, with sparkling dark eyes, black hair, and copper skin;
but it was their stories that got me.

We all have hungry hearts.
We all long to be understood at a deep level.
And while the white boys I had known in the past were cute and fun,
it was the Ojibway boys who had real stories to share about life.



Springsteen ~ Hungry Heart


Bruce Springsteen, E Street Band

Got a wife and kids in Baltimore, Jack
I went out for a ride and I never went back
Like a river that don't know where it's flowing
I took a wrong turn and I just kept going
Everybody's got a hungry heart
Everybody's got a hungry heart
Lay down your money and you play your part
Everybody's got a hungry heart
I met her in a Kingstown bar
We fell in love I knew it had to end
We took what we had and we ripped it apart
Now here I am down in Kingston again
Everybody needs a place to rest
Everybody wants to have a home
Don't make no difference what nobody says
Ain't nobody like to be alone
Everybody's got a hungry heart
Everybody's got a hungry heart
Lay down your money and you play your part
Everybody's got a hungry heart

Songwriters: Bruce Springsteen
Hungry Heart lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing







Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Crossing Petite Passage
Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia
Photo Copy by Roy MacBeath 
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved






For Map Lovers Like Me:





Location of Lansdowne House
Known Today as Neskantaga



Location of Lansdowne House
Wikimedia   edited



Lansdowne House
Sketch by M. Louise Barbour


Wednesday, March 1, 2017

IWSG: Wednesday, March 1, 2017 ~ Aloha!






It's the first Wednesday 
of the month ~ 
the day when members of the
Insecure Writer's Support Group
share their writing struggles
and offer their encouragement
and support to other members.









To visit the IWSG website, click here.

To become a member of the IWSG, click here.

Our wonderful co-hosts who are stepping up to help IWSG founder Alex J. Cavanaugh are:
Tamara Narayan,  Patsy Collins  M. J. Fifield,  and Nicohle Christopherson. 

I hope you have a chance to visit them and thank them for co-hosting.
I'm sure they would appreciate an encouraging comment!

Every month, the IWSG announces a question that members can answer
in their IWSG Day post. These questions may prompt you to share
advice, insight, a personal experience or story.
Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post,
or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.

Remember, the question is optional!!!
This month's IWSG featured question is:
Have you ever pulled out a really old story and reworked it?
Did it work out?
~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Aloha!
This month's IWSG Day finds me newly arrived in Honolulu
still recuperating from a serious bout of flu/cold.
I'm back to accessing the internet at a table in the Royal Grove's lobby.
I dearly love Hawaii!


Diamond Head Crater
Honolulu, Hawaii, USA
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



My answer to this month's IWSG question is "No."
I have never reworked an old story,
but once I complete my northern manuscript that's exactly 
where I am going.
I have lots of stories and even the beginning of a novel to retackle.

Plus, I want to have another go at the story I entered in last year's IWSG contest.
I crammed too much into 6,000 words, and I have lots I want to improve.
So I'll look forward to everyone's answers to this month's question with great interest!


My Latest Writing Hidey-Hole
The Royal Grove, Honolulu, Hawaii
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


And now for a little revealing fun!
I scribbled down some behaviors that identify me as reader. 
Do you share any of these?

1.  I have have dozens of books scattered about my home
     waiting to be read.

2.  I always have magazines stacked in my bathroom to sneak in
     a little quiet reading. 

3.  I can sit in a bookstore for hours, drinking coffee and browsing
     through books.

4.  I worry that I don't have enough time to read and reread all the
     books I'd like to in the time I have left.

5.  I can't catch a flight without buying a book in an airport
     bookstore.

6.  I snap photos of books I see and would like to read.

7.  I get anxious if I have a day that I can't read.

8.  I know where you can buy a book to read late at night
     on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas.

9.  I  love talking on the phone with my sisters and friends about
     good books to read.

10.  I think a new book smell beats a new car smell hands down!  

I'd love to hear about a behavior that identify you as a true reader! 


IWSG Reads:

I've made it a goal this year to read at least five books
published by Insecure Writer's Support Group writers.







I recently finished reading 
As We Know it
by Carrie Butler

Goodreads   Blog







I don't know about you, 
but I spend time imagining what might happen
if the Cascadia subduction zone lets loose,
especially when I am in Seattle or Victoria.


  
So I couldn't resist reading Carrie's novel on what 
The Really Big One would do to the Pacific Northwest  
if a full margin rupture occurred along the subduction fault 
that runs from Cape Mendocino, California, USA
to Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada.

I'm happy to say that Carrie,
unlike the script writers for numerous disaster movies,
gets the geology right.
That's really important to someone like me with a passion for geology.

It's not just the 9.0+ earthquake that will get you;
it's also the tsunami that will arrive within fifteen minutes and wipe the coast clean.
I, for one, hope to be nowhere around when this earthquake strikes,
and it will strike.
It's not a question of if, but when.

Tourist Elena Cordova is not so lucky.
She finds herself struggling to survive the earthquake, tsunami, and aftermath with strangers, 
including Vincent a war veteran with both survival skills and PTSD.

Watching these two imperfect people fall in love as they fight to live was lots of fun.
I was rooting for their survival and love to the last page;
and truly the book was much more about love than geology ~
which was just fine by me.
As We Know It was definitely an enjoyable read!



One of Honolulu's Fascinating Trees
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved



Happy Writing in March!