Category: History

Animals, Environment, Gratitude, History, Nature, Religion, Spirituality, Writing

First Decent Snowstorm

Lisa Burbank

First big snowstorm hit last night and I became a little kid again. Though an inch of snow fell in December, it barely coated the ground. This is different. According to Channel 3 News, 8 inches in some areas. I’d say we’re pretty close here in Brooklyn, CT. The snow hadn’t finished falling last night when I went out to the barn around 7:30-8 o’clock to feed, water and check on the animals, and it was over the back of my calf.

I love it!

Of course, I’m not looking forward to the clean up this morning. My driveway’s not super-long but my shoulder will be screaming abuse at me before the job is done. Thankfully, this is the light, fluffy, sugar-snow…as opposed to the heavy, wet variety…and I can push more than actual shoveling. That’s a little easier on the back and shoulders but, though I am scheduled as a Eucharistic minister this morning, I doubt I’ll get shoveled out in time for the 8 a.m. Mass. No burly young men to sweet talk into doing the shoveling for me (and I’m not really lamenting that, just stating the facts) nor do I own a working snow blower. This ought to burn some calories. =)

But, aside from these practical considerations, and a deeply-felt gratitude that we did not fall victim to the power outages that were predicted for the area (we were woefully unprepared for such; we have plenty of bottled water, candles, oil lamps but no wood for the stove), I’m feeling that childhood magic that comes with the first big snowfall.

And, yes, I do feel that it is magical. Those first few moments, before any of that snow is disturbed, that pristine blanket makes everything feel safe, clean and fresh, and makes me think of some sort of fairy land, like Narnia. I sincerely hope the White Witch doesn’t come riding up on her sleigh, but the artist and author in me sees a thousand pictures, paintings and/or stories hidden in each and every flake. I see a snowman on someone’s front lawn and think of Frosty. I see a pattern of hoof prints in the snow by the woods and, despite the yuletide season being over (unless you’re of Ukrainian descent; yesterday was Ukrainian Christmas (or Eastern European)), I think of Santa’s reindeer and their white-tailed cousins who live in those woods behind my house. The big kid in me wants to follow their trail, roll one of Frosty’s cousins into existence, throw a few snowballs at someone and lay in that snow to make an angel.

Of course, for those of us who grew up in Rhode Island, there’s still that little kid inside, hoping to hear Salty Brine’s voice singing out over the radio: “No school Foster/Glocester!” (I always wanted to live in either Foster or Gloucester as a kid…they had more snow days than every other town/city in RI combined!) God bless him; he will forever be a Rhode Island icon, his voice forever recorded in my memory.

I’m praying that these magical snowstorms will never be “forever recorded” in just a memory. Eight inches on the ground today; temperatures in the 50’s Tuesday through Thursday this week. As a kid, this sort of snowfall would last weeks. Guess I’ll have to do the angel thing on my way to the barn again. Might not get another chance.

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Faith, Frugality, History, Minimalism, Religion

Can’t Call It a Holiday

Lisa Burbank

Black Friday, that is. And many do refer to it as a holiday, of sorts. Somehow, camping outside of Walmart in frigid temps, snow, rain, or whatever else the elements are throwing at us this time of year, doesn’t seem like much of a holiday to me. Neither does fighting the hordes of humanity, swearing and cursing in an attempt to find a parking space, being flicked the bird when I do find it ahead of some other shopper, simply to find that “perfect” gift is “out of stock” and the store isn’t issuing rain checks…the “perfect” gift that will likely be returned the day after Christmas. But to each their own.

(Sorry, inner-cynic coming out…LOL!)

Of course, I used to pride myself in having all of my Christmas gifts purchased by Black Friday and to spend this day actually wrapping them and filling out Christmas cards. I’m not quite as efficient these days. And, as I tend to make most of my gifts now, instead of purchasing, and I tend to procrastinate, I’m still working on those gifts right up until the last possible moment. This year may be different though. While I don’t have any gifts completed to wrap today, having found a new passion in the form of painting, I may not be procrastinating quite so much this season. Rather, I plan to use the day to simply make out my Christmas list.

But I can’t help wondering how such a tradition got started. Yes, from my years of working/volunteering in living history museums, I know that the Christmas tree became popularized in 1848 by an engraving that was published of the Royal Family–Queen Victoria and Prince Albert–admiring a Christmas tree in their home. Prince Albert was German and the yew tree was already a tradition in his homeland. This started the trend of trimming a tree. And, shortly thereafter, as the world figuratively shrunk due to what were then modern methods of travel, and cultures blended, the tradition of gift giving became a regular thing during the Yuletide season. But, back in the 1840’s and 50’s, gift giving involved a few sweets, or small tokens, hung on those evergreen boughs. I can remember, too, reading the “Little House” series of books where Laura Ingalls Wilder writes about the gifts she and her sisters received in their stockings but, again, they were modest by today’s standards: a shiny tin cup, a penny, an orange. This was the 1870’s and 80’s. Santa was ho-ho-ho-ing across the skies on Christmas Eve by now. And has been doing so ever since. But why has this day, the Friday after Thanksgiving, become marked in red on every modern calendar as the quintessential day to bowl our fellow man over in an attempt to get the best deals? I know it’s a marketing ploy for retailers but it just seems like such a waste, such a vulgar display of materialism, greed and pride.

But, then, I tend to be a minimalist.

And, as a Christian, I would rather remember the real reason we celebrate this day. While there is no mention of a date for Christ’s birth in the Holy Bible, remembering that a Savior was born to save the world fills me with far more satisfaction and peace than snagging that marked-up 50″ plasma screen TV, at 20% off, before every other shopper does.

May God bless you & keep you!

History

Thanksgiving in 1830’s New England

Lisa Burbank

Having been a volunteer at a local living history museum since 2011 has been the best on-going history class I’ve ever taken. While, in recent posts, I have lamented not being able to learn many of the antiquated skills that make the museum such a popular attraction–for both tourists and local folks alike, I cannot deny the value of those history lessons. I shared a condensed version of this in the dealership’s newsletter.

In 1838, the year that the museum roughly interprets, Thanksgiving was the big holiday. This was the time where, if you could, you went home for the holiday (note the singular here). The Christmas celebrations we enjoy today were unheard of. Christmas was, by the puritanical standards that still governed much of New England in the 1830’s, a papist celebration and considered idolatrous and unscriptural by Puritan fathers. That’s a tough one for most folks to wrap their mind around. But nowhere in the Bible does it give an actual date for Christ’s birth. Therefore, the Puritan religion, with its strict adherence to biblical truths, did not mark December 25th as anything out of the ordinary. The museum has many diaries and journals where the author’s entries mark this day as business as usual. And, while the Puritan religion had died out by 1838, the influence was still felt. The Christmas celebrations we enjoy today were enjoyed in the big cities, like New York or Philadelphia, but it would be close to another decade before they moved into this part of the country.

That being said, families gathered together in celebration of Thanksgiving. This was the start of our great nation, a symbol of the fellowship between our Native American neighbors and our Pilgrim forefathers. As President Abraham Lincoln would not officially mark the 3rd Thursday of November as Thanksgiving in the United States for a few decades later, the actual date for this celebration tended to vary as it was usually the mayor of a town that declared the holiday.

Much like today, housewives began their baking for this holiday weeks in advance. And, before anyone asks, because this is a time long before refrigeration, they stored their baked goods in the top dresser drawers of upstairs’ bedchambers…where they froze solid. Local dry goods’ stores would receive in rare treats, such as raisins and cinnamon, well in advance of the holiday. And, as raisins were not pitted in those days, young children would be set to helping by removing those pits, one raisin at a time. While we think of turkey as the main entree, duck, goose and other wild game were also common. Incidentally, venison would have been rare; New England of the 1830’s was mostly farmland, taking over much of the habitat, so that deer were few and far between; we have more forests today in New England than they did in 1838 due to clear cutting and the 11-14 cords of wood needed by each household just for cooking (isn’t that a kick in the head?). As so many would gather, those not seen for the better part of the year, many and myriad special dishes were set to table to enjoy together.

Interestingly, because so many loved ones would gather together in their Sunday best, a church service would lead off the holiday, and so many special entrees graced this feast, celebrating weddings was also a common practice at Thanksgiving. Housewives would simply add a few extra entrees and a special cake for the bride and groom.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t anticipate any weddings today. And, as a pescetarian, I won’t be eating any turkey, but I always look forward to the wide array of my favorite vegetables: turnip, squash and green bean casserole, and a healthy slice of pumpkin pie.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone! May God bless you & keep you!

Animal Rights, Animals, Environment, Faith, Gratitude, History, Nature, Politics

Congratulations

Lisa Burbank

“Then Daniel praised the God of heaven, saying: Blessed be the name of God forever and ever, for He alone has all wisdom and all power. World events are under His control. He removes kings and sets others on their thrones. He gives wise men their wisdom, and scholars their intelligence.” Dan 2:20-21

This morning I turned on the PC, went directly to MSNBC’s website and swallowed my disappointment. My gut was telling me last night, before I turned off the TV (yes, we have TV now; Mom can’t get along without it…), that Donald Trump would be the winner. And, while it is a disappointment, because he has little to no stand on the environment, thinking only with his pocketbook rather than the safety and good health of the people, animals, and our shared planet, I have to concede to God’s wisdom in this and give thanks. We have a new president. And, before I went to bed last night, I prayed only that His wisdom prevail and that whoever He thought would be the better candidate would win.

Astonishingly, to those who know me best, Hillary Clinton was not my first choice of candidates. I have been following Jill Stein of the Green Party, which is just as the name suggests–one concerned with our environment and the very real threat of global warming. However, she did not get my vote. And, I confess, it was a bit of a dilemma all the way up to the ballot box. While I felt she would have been the better choice, I also knew, like our Independent and Libertarian candidates, she wouldn’t even be a consideration in the overall big picture. It is sad, because we really can’t call ourselves a democracy if we narrow our views to the same two parties each election, but that is the way of it. And, as I debated about my decision, knowing that maybe a few more votes might put the Green Party in a better position for later elections, I didn’t want Donald Trump to get into office. I didn’t really want Hillary either but, in my opinion, because she at least she has some sensitivity to the environment, she was the lesser of two evils. My vote went to her only because I wanted it to truly count against Trump and, maybe, just maybe, give Hillary a little more edge over him.

But who am I to question God’s wisdom?

While disappointment is a bitter pill to swallow before 4 a.m. in the morning, I give my heartfelt congratulations to Donald Trump. I don’t really think he’s “evil”, per se. I think he is an intelligent man, even if he lacks the finesse and tactfulness that should be a leading quality in any position of authority. We already have a reputation in many other countries for being greedy, wasteful and arrogant, even as we provide aid and support to many countries, especially in times of crises; before Donald Trump is through we may have to add crude to that list as well. I do think he is a good businessman. He knows how to manage big money, how to handle large debts, how to balance a budget, and he has the strength and courage to make tough decisions where it comes to job creation and the economy. For me, those things are almost as important a concern as the environment, as full-time, decent-paying employment opportunities are few and far between these days. However, I also think, as a businessman, he leads from a corporate perspective, meaning the growing gap between the haves and the have-nots is going to get even wider. No, I don’t expect anyone to be handed anything but I do hope he truly can create more and better-paying jobs so that Americans may stand proud again from having earned those wages. Somehow, though, I think we are going to see longer unemployment lines, and longer lines at our local soup kitchens and food pantries. I hope I’m wrong. If I am, in four years’ time, I’ll eat some humble pie and sing his praises.

In the meantime, I’m sending up prayers for our environment, that his decision to start extracting oil from tar sands and oil shale might change before he is sworn into office in January. I hope that, somehow, he manages to pull his head out of that sand and stop denying this very real threat–not only to America, but to the whole world, and to every living being that shares it with us. As the US currently is responsible for 25%-40% (depends who you ask but it’s a large number either way) of the energy usage in this world, I think we would better serve it–and even ourselves–if we moved to greener energies rather than mining for more petroleum. That’s my personal utopia speaking but I dread the next four years; I dread what they will do to this great planet. Somehow, America the Beautiful is more of a history lesson now than anything else–or it will be once this mining begins.

Last night, before she went to bed, I half-jokingly told Mom that if Donald Trump won the election, we were moving to Canada. Amazingly, she laughed and said, “That’s right!” I doubt she truly meant it but it has been a consideration. However, as our polar ice caps continue to melt, and knowing Donald Trump will likely not use this new authority he’s been given to try to at least help slow it down, moving is not really an option. If they melt, and our oceans rise the 40 feet scientists predict, there will be nowhere safe. And, in the meantime, as our planet continues to heat up at an alarming rate, I’m going to join some of those doomsday preppers. Greater temperatures mean bigger and stronger hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, tsunamis and volcanic eruptions. Again, nowhere safe.

And, yes, I am a little ray of sunshine this morning. I told you it was a bitter pill to swallow at such an ungodly hour.

So, a truly heartfelt “Congratulations!” to Donald Trump. Again, despite my fear for the environment, I will not question God’s wisdom in setting you in our highest office. You fought the good fight, maybe a bit down and dirty, but that’s politics. And you won. That’s an accomplishment in itself, for any candidate. To Hillary, an A for effort; you hung in there until the end. As I felt Bill did a decent job in office, I am sure you would have done well, too. And I would have liked to have seen a woman–finally–in our highest office. Just because. Thank you to all our candidates! Maybe our next election will be one of true change–a change in parties; can’t hurt. The last few elections have been more about choosing that “lesser of two evils” rather than a candidate we can truly feel good about. Sad, but true. And, as we begin the march towards that next election, may Donald Trump, and all our political leaders, lead with God’s wisdom and love…for all creatures great and small.

May God bless you & keep you!

Creativity, Environment, Faith, Hauntings, History, Spirituality, Supernatural

Happy Halloween

Lisa Burbank

Thanksgiving is truly my favorite holiday. Though I abstain from eating any meat or poultry, I love gathering together with so many loved ones and sharing such a wide array of vegetables: turnip, squash, pumpkin pie and green bean casserole are some of my favorites. But Halloween is a pretty close second.

I’m turning 50 in a few weeks but, if you turned those numbers around “05”, 5 years old is about how old I act when it comes to “dressing up” for the occasion. I have never outgrown it. No, I don’t go trick-or-treating–or mumming and guising, as it was originally called–but I like to make people laugh. Or, at the very least, smile. And, no matter what costume I decide on, it usually does elicit an upturn of lips wherever I go. To me, that’s reason enough to indulge that inner child.

Halloween tends to be a bit controversial within the Christian community. All Hallows’ Evening (Halloween is a contraction for this holiday), is said to be the time when the veil between the Otherworld and this one is particularly thin and the souls of the dearly departed are free to roam the earth–and, potentially, to right their wrongs. This, of course, has its roots in Gaelic traditions. The night of Samhain (pronounced SOW-en) marks the end of the harvest season, when spirits–or fairies–enter this world and must be appeased to ensure that people and livestock survive the long winter ahead. Earlier generations would invoke God’s protection upon approaching their dwellings, and guising–or the donning of a costume–was done to disguise oneself from the Fae Folk. The carrying of a Jack-o’-lantern by guisers was to protect one from any evil spirits lurking about. And, interestingly, the Jack-o’-lantern was originally either a turnip or a mangel wurzel (a type of beet). When early settlers to the Americas arrived, they adopted the native fruit–the pumpkin. Within the Roman Catholic Church, All Hallows’ Evening is part of the triduum of Allhallowtide, a time set aside for honoring the saints and praying for the souls of those dearly departed as they journey from Purgatory to Heaven. In many countries, All Hallows’ Evening celebrations also include a church service and the lighting of candles upon the graves of departed loved ones. However, as many Protestant religions do not believe in Purgatory, this practice, or belief, goes against their notions of predestination. Hence, some of the controversy surrounding this holiday.

For myself, the only “controversy” I feel about any holiday is the commercialization of it. Big box department stores have been lining their shelves for weeks with costumes and accessories, many of which will wind up in landfills after tonight. I’d hate to think I had so little gumption as to buy a costume. I’d rather give the creative genius a little room to spread her wings. Albeit, as I type this, I will confess to purchasing some rather toxic make-up to enhance today’s disguise. If anyone has a safe, less-toxic means of creating green face paint, I would greatly appreciate it for next time.

In the meantime, I am looking forward to seeing the smiles, and receiving a few chuckles, as I don this year’s ensemble. And I will continue to tell myself that the smiles and laughter are a tribute to that creativity and not the result of everyone thinking, “Look at that old fool!” Eh, you’re only as young as you feel…and I won’t say “No!” to a bit of soul cake* either!

May God bless you and keep you!

*Soul cakes were given during the Middle Ages to children and the poor when they came knocking during mumming and guising. They were cakes made with allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, raisins and/or currants and topped with a cross to signify their giving as alms. Homemade with organic ingredients they must’ve been much healthier than our sugar-laced commercial treats (albeit, I won’t say “No!” to a Kit Kat either…and hang the IBS! LOL!)

**Information retrieved from http://www.wikipedia.com for educational purposes only.

Herbs, History, Nature, Spirituality

Wednesday’s Weed Walk: Belladonna

Lisa Burbank

Do NOT try this at home, kids! I repeat, DO NOT TRY THIS at home, in the office, in the car on the way to the office, in school, church, the local gym or even the grocery store. Today’s post is strictly for educational and entertainment purposes ONLY! And because this is also the last “weed walk” before Halloween/Samhain, writing a blog post about an herb whose other common names include: Banewort, Devil’s Berries, Naughty Man’s Cherries, Death Cherries, Beautiful Death and Devil’s Herb (Wikipedia), seemed appropriate for the occasion.

I am talking about Atropa belladonna, more commonly known as either Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade. This is one of the most deadly plants one can have in their garden as it’s attractive fruits entice the palette–especially that of children’s–yet it takes only 2-3 of those plump, sweet berries to prove lethal for a child. Adults are not immune either though it takes about 10 of those berries to prove lethal for us; lower doses are said to incite hallucinations and, as such, it has a history of abuse as a recreational “drug” but it has some very unpredictable side effects so, again, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! Or anywhere else. And I don’t care how redundant I’m being. This is one of those you can never be too cautious about.

Interestingly, Belladonna also has a history of medicinal uses. Many of the hypnotic properties in this plant deaden pain and it is used even today in many modern pain relievers. Modern pharmaceuticals have found a way to isolate these painkilling properties to produce allopathic medicines for treating ulcerative colitis, diverticulitis, diarrhea, peptic ulcers, chronic bronchitis, asthma and vertigo, among others. Deadly nightshade/Belladonna contains an anticholinergic agent that blocks the neurotransmitter acetylcholine in the central and peripheral nervous systems (Wikipedia), systems that control the parasympathetic nerve impulses. Your parasympathetic nerves control those involuntary movements of the smooth muscles, those that control the gastrointestinal tract, urinary tract, your heart, your lungs and many other parts of the body. These are muscles that expand and contract, or function, without any conscious thought on our part. These nerves, we could say, work “behind the scenes” in our bodies, helping us to breathe, digest food and eliminate waste. Which would be one of the reasons this plant is so deadly as too much would likely shutdown these automated systems. We’ll leave this one to the pros…and, perhaps, to the memories of the wise women and cunning men of old.

Of course, in the days of cunning men and wise women–the true crones of old, who were often regarded as witches for their uncanny knowledge of the herbs–Belladonna was more commonly used as an anesthetic to relax, or deaden, the body for surgery, or for the making of poison-tipped arrows for men of war. That it was effective in the latter, and these early surgeries were often unsuccessful, hence, I shall throw another word of caution in here. This is definitely not a “simple” you want to brew in your home-grown apothecary.

However, it is an attractive plant and I know of many who do keep some in the garden for aesthetic purposes. It can grow up to 6’6″ tall with 7″ long, ovate leaves and lovely bell-shaped flowers that are a dull purple in color with just a hint of green and, when ripe, shiny black berries. Bees often make honey from the nectar of the flower. Wild birds and animals often eat the berries, despite their toxicity, dispersing the seeds in their droppings. However, this plant has proven toxic to many domesticated animals, as well as to humans, so this homesteader-in-the-making would rather admire it from afar than in the garden.

The name “Belladonna” is Italian for “pretty woman”. In addition to its earlier uses as a medicine, and poison, it was also used by ladies as a cosmetic. A tincture of Belladonna dropped into the eyes will give them a seductive appearance, an appearance that was much favored by earlier women. However, it also distorts the vision, creating a near-sightedness that inhibits one’s ability to focus on things close-at-hand; it also increases the heart rate and, over prolonged periods of time, causes blindness (Wikipedia).

As a quick aside, I am citing Wikipedia throughout and I know this free, online encyclopedia is definitely NOT approved as an appropriate reference academically or professionally, but there were enough citations attached to this listing that I decided to use it anyway. As an herbalist, though I would never consider working with such a toxic plant, it is one that I have learned about in various herb classes for safety and educational purposes–enough to know this Wikipedia listing is accurate. And that accuracy should be enough to instill a big WARNING sign over any intention to use it. Because it is so deadly, few, if any, of my herbals lists it as a curative. For the sake of this posting, I am more interested in sharing some of the folklore I found about it, folklore that I do have in some of my “magickal” herbals.

Revisiting those hallucinogenic properties, many the wise woman and cunning man was reputed to use Belladonna to “fly”. A common mixture was of Belladonna, the opium poppy, monkshood and/or poison hemlock. I shudder to think of what sort of “trips” this combination of herbs created. (Again and again, don’t try this at home…) However, they were used in an ointment so, my guess is, as my sources do not give detail, that it was absorbed through the skin–our largest organ. Having had some lightheaded experiences working in the “High” bed in the herb garden at the living history museum where I used to volunteer, I can testify that the absorption of potentially toxic plant matter through the skin can be quite potent, indeed. In my case, it was Lily of the Valley that had me reeling a bit.

But I digress…

In his excellent book, Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs, Scott Cunningham also alludes to this ancient practice of using Belladonna “to encourage astral protection and to produce visions, but safer alternatives are available today and belladonna is best avoided’ (53).

May God bless you & keep you!

Works Cited

Atropa belladonna. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia. Web.
Retrieved from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atropa_belladonna. 26 October 2016.

Cunningham, Scott. Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs, Second Edition. Llewellyn Publications, Minnesota: 1985.

Alcoholism, Ghosts, Hauntings, Healing, History, Homesteading, Supernatural

The Hanging Tree

Lisa Burbank

As we coast into October and my favorite time of the year, it wouldn’t be complete without a few ghost stories here or there. After all, the funnest holiday of the year (in my not-so-humble opinion…) falls on the very last day of this month–Halloween, or Samhain.

What does this have to do with homesteading?

Everything…if your homestead sits where your community’s hanging tree used to be. This little almost-acre of land is where the Windham County Hanging Tree used to be, or so I’ve been told. And it makes sense.

hanging-tree

When Dan and I first purchased this property back in 2001, I started having reoccurring dreams of walking in the door from work and seeing a pair of blue-jean clad legs hanging from the upper banister. I didn’t have a clue where these dreams were coming from or why I was having them. Being a bit superstitious at times, I also worried that maybe this might be a bit of a premonition…and I hoped I was wrong. My ex-husband, Dan–husband at the time–was an alcoholic but he didn’t strike me as being depressed or, in any other way, being a likely candidate for suicide, as that was what I perceived this potential premonition to be warning. Nope. It just didn’t fit. Dan was tied too strongly into his faith, into family. He loved life too much and, even though he drank heavily, he was always a happy-go-lucky sort of drunk. He drank more as a social thing rather than a need to get wasted…even if a 30 Pack on the weekend was “normal” for him.

The mystery of these dreams wasn’t revealed until Dan and I filed for divorce in 2004. Initially, we had placed the house on the market but, at the time, Route 6 was in the middle of some major construction and we had a trench running the full length of the property between the road and our front yard. To get into the driveway, you had to drive over some steel “planks” the construction crew had placed over the gaping hole. Needless to say, we had little to no curb appeal. After several months, the real estate company was ready to reduce our price unless one of us would consider trying to get a pre-approval for the mortgage. Dan had some major gambling debts that prohibited him from refinancing and, as he was living with his older brother–and the two were proving incompatible for co-habitation–he looked at me. At first, I balked. I really didn’t want to stay. It was too expensive for a single person. It needed a lot of work that I didn’t know how to do and couldn’t afford to have done. I saw the financial struggles I would have–all of which have proven prophetic–as well as the restrictions that living in a rapidly becoming commercial zone might bring. I wanted acreage. But, as another week went by without any interest at all, I decided to try. I had a good paying job, though I hated it, and it would mean I could stay somewhat settled. So I applied. And I won. But there was a stipulation. I would have to paint the house before the mortgage company would give me the loan. (Yes, that raised a few eyebrows here, too, but, in light of the fixer-upper state, I guess it made some sense.)

I tend to be a bit of a spiteful person. I am one of those people that if you tell me I have to do something, I automatically dig my heels in. However, digging my heels in would’ve been counterproductive to what I was trying to accomplish so, instead, I decided to get funky with it. No “normal” color palette like white or yellow, or even touching up the blue that already graced the clapboards. Instead, I got it into my head to go with black. I didn’t jump on impulse. I actually took a trip to Home Depot and, in their paint department, they had a computer that was set up so you could get an idea what your house would look like with a particular paint scheme. So I typed in the style of house and then started “painting” it. I loved it! But it was still an overly-bold color scheme. Would the town balk at it with me being on the main road? I gave them a call the next day but there were no prohibitions in their charter. So I walked across the street to the hardware store, wanting to give the business to someone local rather than a big box store. I was also hoping they could give me an idea how many gallons I might need as I this was a DIY project–with the help of some friends, of course–and I confess to being a little out of my element.

The conversation with Bob went something like this:

“What color are you going with?”

“Black.”

“No, I mean for the house itself, not the trim.”

“I know. I’m painting it black.”

“What color do you want the trim?”

“Also black.”

“Black on black?”

“Except the front door. I want to paint that orange.”

There was a moment’s pause. Then Bob shook his head and said, “Let’s hope you don’t stir anything up over there.”

I latched onto that one immediately. Not only had I had reoccurring dreams, Dan and I had also experienced some unexplainable occurrences over the years; I had never thought to ask the neighbors about the house. And nothing was revealed when we closed on it in 2001 so I just chalked everything off to some over-active imaginations. Dan and I were both writers and artists after all. And we watched “Haunted History” on The History Channel and another show on The Travel Channel that featured haunted tourist traps religiously.

However, Bob nixed that explanation.

Every criminal that passed through Windham County met their end on this property until hanging was finally outlawed as a means for punishment. The actual tree, he assured me, has long since been cut down. No, that great big grandmother in the front yard that I’ve christened “Helen” was not the actual hanging tree. However, there is a large crevice in back where even the roots were dug out. The previous owners had planted a Rose of Sharon bush in that crevice. Perhaps as a way to heal its sordid past. Over the years, I’ve envisioned this place as a thriving herb farm; a holistic retreat center; a wildlife refuge for local and native plants and animals as a means to further heal this stain on the land.

Why should it matter so much? They were criminals after all. Except one of the stories Bob told me continues to haunt me: the last person hung here was a poor African American man who got caught stealing a cow because he was hungry and had nothing to eat. Was this his first offense? Or one of many? Had he turned to crime as a sort of profession? Or had an empty belly made him desperate? Did he have children who were also hungry? And, as this was 1905-ish, had the color of his skin played a hand in the lack of mercy that took his life for his desperation? There is no way of knowing but it seems a horrible way to lose one’s life. A murderer? Rapist? Yeah, maybe I’d feel differently. Despite being a minister, I’m not opposed to the death penalty for such, especially knowing that such crimes would likely be repeated if these individuals were released into society again. But it seems a little extreme for theft. No, I would be all over anyone who stole one of my chickens or goats–even for hunger–but I wouldn’t be wanting to string them up.

Amazingly, after having this conversation with Bob, the reoccurring dreams stopped.

May God bless you & keep you!