The official blog of Denise M. Baran-Unland, author. Discover her books for all ages at bryonyseries.com.
Saturday, March 29, 2025
Friday, March 28, 2025
Story Round-Up: Features in The Herald-News, March 22 through March 28
Good morning!
I have just eight feature stories to share with you today at the bottom of this post, since I was in the hospital for a few days, last week, and I'm still catching up.
But I did write more than eight stories this week - and some will go live this weekend. So be sure to check back on The Herald-News site: shawlocal.com/the-herald-news.
Before the stories I also have a list of additional updates, resources, and information. Please check them out, too.
And if you'd like to find more kindness in your life, consider this book.
And have a great Friday!
Events
Inkwells and Espresso: I'm planning to hang out with local writers and work on copyediting tomorrow from 10 a.m. to noon tomorrow at Critical Grind Board Game Cafe in Shorewood.
National Poetry Month: I've been invited to read and display BryonySeries and WriteOn books at the second National Poetry Month Open Mic & Festival: 6 to 10 p.m. April 12 at the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park Theatre in Joliet. Admission is free, so stop out if you can.
We Can Be Heroes: WriteOn Joliet's third original radio-style theatre performance will take place at 7 p.m. April 25 and 2:30 and 7 p.m. April 26 at the Billie Limacher Bicentennial Park Theatre in Joliet. I'll be sharing more details about this event in the coming weeks.
Plus, BryonySeries has a new display up at The Book Market in Crest Hill (complete with Cindy's Easter ribbits - more on this next week). And I plan to hang out and sign books one day in April and one in early May (dates to be announced). I'm having surgery in mid-May, so additional events will be scheduled after that.
BryonySeries books-in-progress
Bertrand the Mouse: Barring any further emergencies in our life, I am working on a special Bertrand the Mouse book this weekend that I'm hoping to give away at a special event. Yes, I'm being mysterious about it...for now.
The Adventures of Cornell Dyer: Cornell Dyer and the House of Horreur" (because the toymaker's last name is "Horreur.") is stalled until Timothy finished his master's degree, which he did. So now we just have to stop having family emergencies (three more this week - our life is like a novel!).
Brainy Ann: The fifth book in The Girls of the BryonySeries is outlined and the first chapter is written, hurray! Jennifer Wainwright, who welcomed her first child into the world last year, is nearly done with the cover portrait. I let this book slide for other BryonySeries projects. But I'm hoping to finish the book in 2025.
Jennifer designed the cover portraits for "Julie and the Too-Hard Homework," "Katie and the Big Fear," "Summer Sisters." and "Karla Joins In," as well as the frontispiece for "Lycanthropic Summer."
Bertrand the Mouse: I have tons of Bertrand photos and books in progress. The goal is to release at least two new ones this year.
Rebekah is also slowly (very, very slowly) updating the BryonySeries YouTube and Pinterest accounts. And she' catching up with Kindles for some of the BryonySeries books. So do watch for those.
For books and more information about the series, visit bryonyseries.com.
RECIPE OF THE WEEK
Sue's Diner is a fictional restaurant in the fictional Munsonville that only exists in the BryonySeries.
Each Wednesday, we post a new recipe. The recipe is either featured in one of our cookbooks, will be featured in an upcoming cookbook, or is just an "extra" we want to share with you.
Check out the recipe here.
WRITERS
If you'd like to officially join WriteOn Joliet, we have two tiers of dues and two ways to attend meetings. We also have a marketing arm that's getting longer every year. Check us out at writeonjoliet.com.
Daily updates: I haven't posted anything on Twitter/X (except a daily Bible verse) since September I can no longer schedule posts in advance. I'm not sure yet how to manage the account without that option. But you're welcome to follow me at @Denise_Unland61.
BryonySeries stuff: I used to curated content relating to the BryonySeries on Twitter/X at @BryonySeries and still post assorted related content at facebook.com/BryonySeries, youtube.com/user/BryonySeries, and themes of each book in the BryonySeries at pinterest.com/bryonyseries.
Again, not sure yet about the direction of the BryonySeries Twitter/X account. Still mulling that over.
And of course, please follow the adventures of Bertrand the Mouse on Instagram at bertrand_bryonyseries.
QUESTIONS
Email me at bryonyseries@gmail.com.Thank you for reading The Herald-News. And for reading this blog. And if you've read (or plan to read) any of my books. Your support is greatly appreciated.
FEATURES
‘I’m not going to be broke’: Former homeless mom shares
strategies in Joliet
Diane Nilan and Melissa Agunloye shared their experiences,
knowledge at Daybreak Center
Where to catch a fish fry in Will County during Lent
Some also offer chicken meals
https://www.shawlocal.com/the-herald-news/2025/03/05/will-county-fish-fries-to-try-this-lent/
Joliet Junior College music teacher to be honored with new
scholarship program
The goal is to raise $15,000
Romeoville getting new hotel on Normantown Road
Joliet Chamber announces Councilman Cardenas as recipient of
community leadership award
Joliet toy drive nets 1,000 toys for local children
Joliet Junior Woman’s Club led effort
Will County Pets of the Week: March 24, 2025
Will County rescues have dogs and cats for adoption
https://www.shawlocal.com/the-herald-news/2025/03/24/will-county-pets-of-the-week-march-24-2025/
5 Things to Do in Will County: Hoo Haven Owl Program
https://www.shawlocal.com/thescene/2025/03/27/5-things-to-do-in-will-county-hoo-haven-owl-program/
Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage"
Thursday, March 27, 2025
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
Sue's Diner: Lemon Chicken with Caramelized Onions
Today's recipe was a contribution from Alison Peloquin for the BryonySeries cookbook Memories in the Kitchen: Bites and Nibbles from "Bryony," which is a permanent fundraiser for Big Brothers Big Sisters of Will and Grundy Counties.
The recipe is called Lemon Chicken with Caramelized Onions - and it's one of my favorite recipes from the cookbook.
And it's perfect for the times you need to quickly prepare a nutritious, delicious dinner.
Here is a summary of where it appeared in Bryony:
While having lunch at Sue’s Diner during Munsonville’s centennial celebration, Melissa and her friends ordered familiar food: cheeseburgers and French fries. Daring Kimberly Whitney was the exception. She had the day’s special: lemon chicken with caramelized onions.
Try the recipe on the Sue's Diner page on the BryonySeries website.
But try the recipe this week. It will be gone some time next week. A new recipe will take it's place.
If you have any troubleshooting questions or comments, email us at bryonyseries@gmail.com.
Here is the full diner page: bryonyseries.com/sue-s-diner. You can't really order, of course (wouldn't it be great if you could?).
For more BryonySeries recipes, check out our three cookbooks at our BryonySeries bryonyseries.com/general-store.
Tuesday, March 25, 2025
Fisher Farm
Last year, I published a guidebook to the BryonySeries to give readers a quick reference to a person, place, or thing when they encountered it or needed a quick refresher.
And then last week during WriteOn Joliet's radio play rehearsal, the topic of Fisher Farm came up because Ed Calkins' piece is set on Fisher Farm.
It's interesting hearing Ed discuss Fisher Farm because he is absolutely enchanted with that farm and told me several years ago his plans for it.
As you may know, Ed is a former supervisor turned collaborator, turned character in the BryonySeries, turned author, turned friend.
As an author/character, he is an unreliable narrator. This gives Ed plenty of freedom in his writings because he can write whatever he likes, however he likes, and have it still fit on the BryonySeries world, which readers can accept as "canon" or not.
Here's the fun part for me. As I put together these ten facts about Fisher Farm (supported by texts from some of the BryonySeries books that might whet your reading appetite to know more), I realized that Ed's writings brought the farm's existence more than full circle. He brought it very forward and infused it with greater and deeper meaning than I had.
Who knows? Maybe you'll become enchanted, too, and want to experience Fisher Farm for yourself.
Oh, and refill that coffee mug. This is a long post. Enjoy the journey!
Here is what the guidebook says:
Fisher Farm: Family farm with two farmhouses northwest of Munsonville, founded by Clyde Fisher in the nineteenth century. Mentioned in “Bryony.” Appears in “Before The Blood:Bryony Marseilles,” “Before The Blood: Bryony Simons,” and “Call of the Siren.” (And also "House on Top of the Hill," which wasn't written when the guidebook was published, as well as two books by Ed Calkins: "The Fifth" and "Recovering Ruthless").
Here are ten facts about Fisher Farm:
1. Fisher Farm was well-established by the time Munsonville was just getting developed. (FYI, Munsonville is a mid-nineteenth century Utopian community in Northern Michigan that encouraged eating fish and not eating meat. Munsonville only exists in the BryonySeries, despite what Ed may tell you).
All summer Maybelle, as plump and sweet as an overripe peach now that she was expecting, stocked the Marseilles cabin with bounties from Fisher Farm; Galien and Adele hardly opened a can. They also drowned in fresh fish, courtesy of Orville and Bernie, a welcome change from last winter's salt cod.
(Before The Blood: Bryony Marseilles).
2. Fisher Farm remained an important supplier of fresh food a decade later and beyond.
(Before The Blood: Bryony Marseilles).
3. Fisher Farm was a place of joy for Bryony Marseilles even as a very young girl.
Bryony liked trips to Fisher Farm. Cattle grazed contentedly in the meadow. Hens waddled and clucked across the road without a care, but when a cart or buggy approached, they scurried away, flapping their wings and kicking up dust.
(Before The Blood: Bryony Marseilles).
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The fading sun sank to the horizon and cast golden orange shadows over the endless countryside. Old Drew clopped along the path his own hooves had dug through many treks to Fisher Farm. Bryony clasped her hands in delight. They were on their winding way.
4. Fisher Farm was a hub for all-village social events.
Whistling a song instead of singing one, Mr. Munson set off again, gaily swinging Bryony's hand as they walked. They were now approaching the party. The bonfire blazed tall and hot in the chilly October air and smelled of burning pine. Here and there stood wooden barrels, with spigots. There were women in cloaks and bonnets, some with faces together and chattering, some arranging the food; and men in jackets and caps, waving glasses, guffawing, and biting into crisp Fisher Farm apples.
(Before The Blood: Bryony Marseilles)
(Later, at the above harvest party, Munsonville founder Owen Munson told this tale of "Stingy Jack.").
Bryony remained with the Parks' until twilight on December 31, and, by the look of annoyance on Reverend's face at her return, she knew he wished circumstances were otherwise, too. But Mr. and Mrs. Parks were attending a New Year's Eve square-dancing party at Fisher Farm with the rest of the village, and Reverend wouldn't allow Bryony to accompany them. So home she went.
5. Fisher Farm is where Bryony found a family during the summer of her eleventh year - and so did her neglected friend Susan Betts.
A gregarious reception greeted Bryony at the back door as
the Fisher girls ushered Bryony into the bright kitchen, warm with genuine
welcome, and succulent with thyme and garlic.
"We're summer sisters," Ivy said.
Next, she contemplated the girls, her companions for the next three months.
At eleven, the same age as Bryony, but slightly taller and not so slender, Rose Fisher bore the appearance of her mother's right hand daughter. She had the round face and eyes, supple well-fed limbs, and dark ringlets of her sisters, but she carried herself with the quiet assurance of knowing her place in the pecking order and having the abilities to carry it out.
Next to Rose, hands demurely behind her back, stood Lilac Fisher, a year younger, the prettiest of the girls and the shyest, but with soulful eyes that expressed her beautiful spirit more eloquently than mere words could.
Daisy, eight, jumping up and down and talking over everyone else to get Bryony's attention, was bright, ebullient, and easy-going, a real hoyden, Mrs. Parks had once said, although not in an unkind way, for the powerful vitality emanating from her shouted, "Challenge? Bring it on!"
By contrast, Ivy, even at age six, oozed femininity at its sweetest. No one could look at the limpid pools that passed for eyes without thinking pink, crocheted lace, and pastel bouquets, and she often adorned her abundant locks with a single blossom.
Five-year-old Heather was the plainest, for God had bestowed on her the worse combination of her parents' physical traits: her mother's high forehead, large cheeks, and protruding belly; and her father's narrow eyes, wide nose, and turned down mouth. But no one, including Heather, seemed to notice this, even though anyone with eyes could see she would never be a beauty, Mrs. Parks said; her friendliness and ready smile more than compensated for these defects.
Marigold was simply a little country doll with the babyish roundness all well-fed girls had at age two, content on pattering about her world in complete trust of those she followed.
"Girls, girls!" Mrs. Fisher held up her hand. "You'll overwhelm our little guest. Rose, please show Bryony her room. After supper, you can help her unpack."
"You're sharing with Lilac and me," Rose said.
She, Bryony, and Lilac each grabbed a bundle and led the way up the back stairs to the second floor, with the younger girls behind them, Heather crooning an unfamiliar tune all the way.
"What is she singing," Bryony asked.
The entire scene felt homey, loving, and captivating. That was the problem.
If only, and Bryony felt the nasty green pang of jealousy for the first time, she had been born a Fisher.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bryony proved quite adept at berry-picking, courtesy of all
the times she had accompanied Mrs. Parks, even though she still gorged her mouth
as well as her pail. As the girls crawled through the tall tickly grass and
gathered the tiny ripe fruit, Grandpa Clyde and One-Eye Blue meandered and
meditated.
One-Eye Blue was the closest Bryony had to a pet. Puss didn't count, since the old tabby rarely interacted with humans, only dozed, her right perhaps, since she was older than Bryony and quite the hardworking mouser in her day, Mrs. Parks had said.
The dog's appearance was striking. He had copper points on his white fur, an eye of brown and an eye of blue, and an unending source of energy, making One-Eye Blue one of the most industrious members of the Fisher household.
With stern barks (and a few nips when necessary), One-Eye Blue rapidly rounded a flock of merino sheep or prodded a herd of black and white Holsteins; he headed and heeled with ease.
Even little Marigold was safe roaming outdoors when One-Eye Blue romped nearby, for he never let her ramble far.
Inside the farmhouse, One-Eye Blue retrieved more dirty laundry than any of the girls, Lilac included, and located lost buttons with ease. He announced the arrival of any strangers, and stretched out by the front door at night.
Yet for all his dominance, One-Eye Blue patiently submitted to brushing and petting, a pastime of Bryony's during drowsy afternoons after lunch. Often, she sat under an old elm, relishing his warm skin and soft coat while in the distance, Mr. Fisher, Grandpa Clyde, and Robbie plowed or hoed.
When she finally laid aside the brush, Bryony cuddled the dog's neck and rested a cheek against the silken fur, neither moving, together basking in the bright sunshine, cool shade, and exquisite pleasure of each other's presence.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"There." Rose tied fastened her work with a bit of
blue ribbon. "You look pretty, Susan. Go see in the looking glass."
Susan shook her head. "Ma said it steals souls."
At that moment, Mrs. Fisher peered around the door in her night cap and dressing gown. Blue, guarding the foot of Susan's bed, pricked up his ears.
"Goodness, girls, why are you still awake?"
"I fixed Susan's hair, but she's afraid to look!"
Mrs. Fisher stroked Rose's curls and looked sympathetically at Susan, who shrank back and tucked her legs under her nightdress.
"Girls, I'll be right back!"
Mrs. Fisher returned with a bronze hand mirror. She eased beside Susan on the trundle bed and held out the mirror upside down.
"Such a small object, Susan, see? Looking glasses don't harm you. They help you."
"I ain't purty!"
"How do you know if you've never seen yourself?"
Susan crossed her arms and scowled at the wall.
"Honey, we can look together," Mrs. Fisher said. "I'll even hold the mirror. Susan, would you like that? And I'll hold your hand so you won't be frightened."
Mrs. Fisher's coaxing tone slowly won Susan's trust. Bit by bit, Susan inched toward the motherly figure.
"Can you believe it?" Rose whispered to Bryony.
"Are you ready, Susan?"
"Yes,'m."
Slowly, Mrs. Fisher rotated the mirror. Susan gasped, and two hands flew up to her mouth.
"Do you see the pretty girl, Susan? Do you see her lovely cornflower eyes, golden hair, the spray of sun kisses, and that spunky turned-up nose?"
Susan seized the mirror and brought it close, searching, searching.
Mrs. Fisher stroked Susan's head. "Susan, do you see?"
"Yes'm."
Susan said nothing, mesmerized.
"The glass is yours, to keep."
Susan lowered the mirror, her expression defiant. "Ma'am?"
"When I was a little girl, much younger than you are tonight, my aunt presented me with this mirror. Now, I am giving it to you, as she gave it to me."
"Much 'bliged, ma'am."
"Oh, Susan!"
After a long while, Mrs. Fisher lay Susan down, tucked the comforter around her as she might do for Marigold, and then kissed Susan's forehead with compassion and warmth.
When Mrs. Fisher finally rose to darken the room, tears streaked her cheeks. "Sleep well, girls."
Rose meekly replied, "Yes, Mama."
Susan shed her indifference as a garter snake shed its skin and emerged from her cocoon as the beautiful butterfly Mrs. Fisher believed her to be.
(Before The Blood: Bryony Marseilles)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
6. Tragedy killed the magic at Fisher Farm by the time Bryony was grown and married. And little Sue Bass, who later stayed on the farm, never experienced the magic, only the despair.
For the villagers had decided to reciprocate the Simons’ generosity by hosting an event at Fisher Farm. Mayor and Mrs. Fisher had invited Susan and Junior to eventually make their home at Grandpa Clyde's farmhouse, but their marriage was a year away.
In the meantime, Mayor Fisher saw no reason not to offer the house and one of the barns for the party. On the invitations, the Fishers instructed guests to don floral-print clothes and decorate their carriages with native flowers and greenery, as a way to celebrate this transition from summertide to autumn.
Bryony stared at the invitation in disbelief.
"What's wrong?" John asked.
Trembling, she handed it back to him. "I don't want to go."
“We must.” John set the invitation on the sideboard and poured a drink. “I’m the entertainment.”
But the tears spilled out and she cried, "No! I can't do it!"
John set the drink down and took her in his arms. "Bryony."
"I can't!"
"I know it's hard. But the Fishers need it. You can do it. I won't leave your side."
She sniffed and looked up. "Promise?"
He brushed the tears away, and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Promise."
(Before The Blood: Bryony Simons)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How many times had Bryony made the short trek between farmhouses with her summer sisters, and yet the way never felt this long or sounded so still. The party sounds grew fainter the farther she and Mrs. Fisher traipsed from them, while the natural sounds of the night, katydids, crickets, and the occasional whippoorwill, rose to near-deafening pitches, as did the scuffing of their feet over the grounds.
She'd spent her happiest, most carefree days of her childhood at this farm. She had everything here: a loving family with two parents, a houseful of sisters, and a Grandpa who was wise and true.
She had a beautiful dog to brush and hold, the freedom to run and play like the wild mustangs she loved to watch, and the presence of her cowboy making joyful music with his songs.
She hated this place, every blade of grass, every splinter of wood.
(Before The Blood: Bryony Simons)
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Blindly, Bryony stumbled out the door and then broke into a run across the fields, flaxen in the day's fading light, not caring where she headed, and still the ghosts of the past kept pace. However did the Fishers endure it?
(Before The Blood: Bryony Simons)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Fisher Farm was dirt, sweat, stink, and muscle-burning work.
Mrs. Helsby was tired, gray-ish, and sad.
Auntie Maybelle struggled to move, struggled to help, and smiled brave smiles.
Priscilla and Emeline had their noses in the air and fresh mouths beneath those noses, the type of mouths that needed a good scrubbing with brown soap.
Marigold, Jasmine, and Violet grew on the same vine.
Sue was a visitor.
(Call of the Siren)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Maudie’s disappearance, for Sue, crystallized why she loathed living at Fisher Farm, and why the very thought of staying forever filled her with unease. A resigned sadness hung in the farmhouse, and an undercurrent of quiet despair pervaded the landscape. Sue sensed it that day Ma had abandoned Sue at the farm. Sue couldn’t define it at the time; she only felt it. But the longer Sue stayed at Fisher Farm, the more she soaked up their misery, the way Uncle James, Auntie Maybelle, and, yes, even Mrs. Helsby had soaked it up and became part of the bleakness. Maybe that’s why Marigold “got with” the ‘hand. Maybe that’s why Maudie ran away – to escape the drab, gray hell of hopelessness.
(Call of the Siren)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The words whirled through Sue’s head, impossible to grasp. Too stunned for tears, Sue could only hang her head and whisper, “I didn’t know.”
But she saw Uncle James – again – in another new light. Maybe Uncle James had stayed in the barns, not because his sparrow had found a home, not because he had found God, and not just because he could see Maybelle the way she lived in his heart, but because his house was too full of his daughters’ ghosts.
“This place is death,” Uncle James said, averting his gaze from Sue but not before she saw his sorrowful eyes. “Anyone who comes here, dies. We’re leaving while we can.”
(Call of the Siren)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
7. Fisher Farm fades into obscurity and no one remembers it by the early 1970s until Munsonville's new librarian asks the village maintenance man about it.
“Steve,” June said as he headed toward the door. “Ever
hear of Fisher Farm?”
“Fisher Farm?” He paused and faced her once again.
“What’s Fisher Farm?”
“A farm James Fisher’s uncle established around the
time Owen Munson founded Munsonville, northwest of the village.”
“How far northwest?”
June laughed. “About an hour by horse and cart.”
Steve laughed, too, and then cocked his head as he
mentally calculated. “So about ten miles or so. Never been out that way.”
“I believe it. Everything beyond my backyard is
overgrown.”
“Hugely overgrown. I’ll ask at the Beulah County Sheriff’s office tomorrow. I’m driving into Jenson for supplies anyway. My hunch is that the farm is unincorporated and under the county’s control.”
(House on Top of the Hill)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“As promised, I stopped at the Beulah County sheriff’s
office today on my way to Jenson for supplies today. Surprisingly, no one knew
anything about Fisher Farm. Gabe’s too young, of course, but Jan looked at me
as if I were asking about Atlantis.” Steve polished off the last of the water.
“So I dropped the subject to keep Fisher Farm off their radar until I checked
it out myself. After I returned from Jenson, I headed northwest with the flail
mower.”
“And?”
Steve wiped his damp face with his damp shirt. “And I
didn’t find Fisher Farm.”
June’s heart sank, and she slumped slightly.
“I did find scattered pieces of an old split rail
fence.”
June perked up.
“So if a farm is out there, I’m on the right track.”
Steve yawned behind his hand. “I mowed through a few miles of grass today. Tomorrow,
I’ll head out before dawn. If I don’t find it, I’m either going the wrong way,
or it’s just not there anymore.” He yawned again, rose, and stretched. “I’ll
let you know.”
June rose, too. “Thanks, Steve. I really appreciate this.”
(House on Top of the Hill)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
June stayed late that night, just in case. At ten
o’clock, she locked the library and trudged home, disappointed, but thankful
Steve had tried. As she approached Pike Street, Steve pulled up beside her, honking
and looking pleased with himself. June sped to the driver’s side window and
breathlessly asked, “You found it?”
“I found it.”
“You’re a genius!”
“Not really. I just followed your directions.”
“So now what?”
“Would you like to see it? I’ve got a couple jobs in
the morning. But we can leave after lunch.”
“Most definitely! How much of Fisher Farm remains?”
“Can’t say, seeing I don’t know what’s original. I saw
seven buildings in terrible shape: two farmhouses and five barns.”
“Is it safe to see them?”
“From outside. When you look through the broken windows,
you’ll see what I mean. I mowed paths through the grass to all the structures
and then mowed paths around them, so you should get a good view.”
“This is wonderful, Steve. Thank you!”
“Be sure to wear long sleeves, long pants, and tall
socks. Bring a hat and insect repellent.”
“I planned on it.”
“Good. Otherwise, the bugs out there will chew you
up.”
“I will, thank you, Steve!”
“See you in the morning!”
Steve drove off and June continued home, ruminating on
bonfires, square dancing, flower festivals, and barn concerts. Of course, just
because Beulah County didn’t know about Fisher Farm didn’t mean Beulah County
didn’t own Fisher Farm. At the same time, just because Clyde Fisher built his farm
on the outskirts of Munsonville didn’t mean Fisher Farm wasn’t within village
limits now. A current plat map should settle the question on who owned the farm.
But before she leaped head-first into that rabbit hole, she needed to see the
property first. Nevertheless, she suspected Munsonville might be putting its
eggs in the wrong basket. The Village Board should consider putting Simons
Mansion out to pasture – in favor of a pasture. June giggled, feeling as light
and giddy as a schoolgirl as she slipped her key into the lock. Nothing excited
June more than discovery.
Driving out to Fisher Farm the next afternoon felt
like driving through a jungle. The grass on either side of the path grew nearly
as tall as Steve’s truck. The sun beat through her clothing and sweat trickled
down her face. Clouds of insects chirred through the air, indignant at the
intrusion of their sanctuary. The overpowering scent of grass and wildflowers
stung her eyes and nose. How in the hell did Steve mow through ten miles of
this mess? And all for a farm no one knew still existed! She glanced at her
hiking boots, the ones she bought for her treks into Simons Woods with Vicki,
the first time she’d worn them since…
“You see?” Steve shouted over the truck’s rumbling as
he pointed.
Sure enough, pieces of an old rail fence lay scattered
here and there.
“You could’ve broken your blades with that!” June
shouted.
Steve sharply dodged each board. “I’ve driven over far
worse!”
Fifteen minutes later, a large, dilapidated farmhouse
came into view, and butterflies leaped in June’s stomach. She felt weirdly
excited at the sight of it and didn’t know why. Steve kept driving through the
path and stopped the motor near the caved-in front porch.
“Well,” Steve said. “Here we are.”
June stepped out of the truck, her eyes roaming over
the sight. Split weathered boards. Porch roof buckling. She followed the path
around the side of the house and waded through tall weeds to the broken window,
shading her eyes for a clear look at the old parlor. The second floor had caved
onto the plank floors, flattened the staircase, and partially buried the
family’s talismans and treasures: stained samplers, rotting rugs, shredded
curtains, decaying cushions on chairs crushed by bedroom furniture, a collapsed
bookcase with stacks of water-soaked, misshapen mildewy books. She
eased her way to the dining room window and saw more of the same. A ceiling
beam impaled the long, wooden dining room table, neatly splitting it in half.
Beams and beds created weird geomatic patterns on a canvas of stained and moldy
walls. She rounded the corner and peered through another window. The kitchen
had collapsed into itself, its stoves, cabinets and shelves, and large windows
with jagged glass teeth. Ironically, a large cast iron triangle still faithfully
hung near the doorway. Hands in her pockets, June rambled the quarter mile to
the second farmhouse with Steve shuffling beside her. June circled the much
smaller building, peeping here and there at similar damage.
“It’s so sad,” June murmured. “They left everything. I
wonder why.”
(House on Top of the Hill)
8. Fisher Farm is not a typical farm, a minute detail Ed picked up from reading the BryonySeries prequel "Before The Blood" and expanded in his books.
“You ran away?” Officer Marsha asked.
“No.” Sheriff Matt hung his head. “I admit that I was irrationally terrified of going into that building, but where I was heading terrified me more. Yet, being from here and looking for a young girl triggered something in me. She had to be at the old Fisher Farm. Trudy, you know that place.”
Officer Trudy nodded to show she did. “Creepy at night.”
“Yes, creepy. But it’s also where young girls seem to disappear from…at least to me. It’s not easy to get to. There’s a narrow dirt road meant for horse teams but… well, I was lucky it hadn’t rained. Neither farmhouse had caved in yet, but I had a feeling about the stables. Just then, I saw a figure. It was an old man walking towards it. I shouted, ‘Halt’ and fired when he didn’t. No one dropped and no one remained. I could have sworn it was the old man himself.”
“Old Man Fisher?”
Matt folded his hands and rested his chin on them. “To this day, I believe I was shooting at Clyde Fisher’s ghost. With my revolver still drawn, I entered the old mustang stables, calling out for Kimberly though, if I was right, she would not want to be found. Instead of her, I found old-style distilling equipment that didn’t have the rust of disuse – and at least a hundred wooden barrels stacked on either side. Most of them were filled with moonshine. I was facing the other way when I first heard him laughing at me.”
“Clyde Fisher?”
“No. He was a short man sitting on top of a barrel with a tin spoon in his hand. He looked a bit like Eircheard, but he was shorter and older, I’d say.”
“A cluricahn!” Sandra exclaimed.
“He called himself ‘Clancy’.”
“That’s my papa,” Eircheard
confessed. “If you’re dealing with him, you’re up to no good.”
Eircheard pointed to the soul flower. True blue.
(The Fifth, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara)
9. In the twenty-first century, Fisher Farm once again becomes a place of healing.
Matt shrugged as he reached for his jacket. “You'll know if it comes to that. It's not like you won't have any other options.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That homestead you wanted, remember?”
Marsha nodded.
“I just finished the paperwork and it's been approved.” Matt’s smile was warm. “You're getting most of the old Fisher Farm land. I'll keep an eye on it for you until the Munsonville calendars all decide to agree."
(Recovering Ruthless, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------“Well…Matt faltered and fumbled for the right words. “This is uncomfortable for me. Let me start off easy. I pulled some strings and got you a homestead. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I could get. The homestead is on the abandoned Fisher Farm.”
“The one where the mysterious Devil’s Moonshine is brewed?”
Money from the Devil’s Moonshine
was the only funding Beulah County received. Even though Beulah County was
contained within the borders of Northern Michigan, the State of Michigan never
heard of Beulah County. Just as mysterious was the brewing and selling of
moonshine in the decrepit barn on Fisher Farm. Nobody ever saw who brewed the
stuff, but Matt once saw the leprechaun-like creature who bought it. The
creature would toss the full wooden barrels into a portal then leave the empty
barrels and a pouch in payment. That pouch always contained pure gold coins.
There was an exchange in Thornton that would melt the coins down and pay in
cash with no questions asked. The journey from Fisher Farm to the exchange and
then to the Beulah County Bank was a weekly trip for Matt. All Beulah County
employees were paid in cash from that sale.
“Yeah, but I put the trailer on
the far east side of the lot. I don’t want you’re soon-to-be-born sons playing
with God knows what.”
“The trailer?”
“Trailer home. When I hired you,
I promised you a hundred dollars per day and a place to live. Yes, we’ve been
putting you up in that room at the Wisten Hotel in Jenson, but it’s cheaper for
the county to buy you a trailer now that you’ve got land to put it on. Its
already hooked up to the utilities and ready to move into. I know it’s a small
living place but it’s enough to get you started. And – here.”
Matt handed Marsha a cashier’s check. Marsha gasped at the amount.
(Recovering Ruthless, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Beth quickly discovered that Fisher Farm had many rules. Her favorite would soon be the dinner bell rule: If you’re staying for dinner, clean up at the kitchen sink pump. Otherwise, it’s time to go home.
It was as if these people thought that every dinner was Thanksgiving. Platters of food covered a long table in the dining room between the large kitchen and the spacious parlor that seated forty or more. The platters held two types of meat: chicken and something called “mutton.” And you had to eat at least one vegetable serving in order to get dessert.
The adults sat at one end with someone called Sheriff Matt at the head of the table. This old man wasn’t the sheriff, though; everyone just called him that, including Sheriff Marsha.
Next to Beth was the white woman everyone – except the two teenage twins, Authur and Marty – called Aunt Sandra. Arthur and Marty called her “Mama Sandra.” That was funny to Beth because the twins called Sheriff Marsha “Mama Marsha.” And both twins were white like Mama Sandra and had her sunny yellow hair.
Aunt Trudy and Uncle Eircheard, a leprechaun-like man in a green suit, sat on the other side of the table. Grandma Trudy was a heavyset poet with long hair and gray eyes. The kids whispered that Grandma Trudy was some kind of hero, but not everyone called her Grandma Trudy.
The only black teenager at the table – May – simply called them Grandma and Grandpa. Did May’s father run out on her, too? The only black adult was Sheriff Marsha – but Sheriff Marsha didn’t call May her daughter.
The white cowboy with the long red hair and green-tinted skin that drove the tractor was named Glorna. He sat next to Aunt Karla, who was some kind of magic lady. She was stocky with curly black hair.
Next to Glorna was a really tall lady named Aunt Patricia. Some of the kids tried to tell Beth why Patricia was so big. Beth didn’t buy it.
There were about twice as many kids as adults and teens. All of them were white and went to Jenson Elementary School with Beth. She always had trouble making friends, but now…
(Recovering Ruthless, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara)
10. Fisher Farm may soon become a place of legend (but that's up to Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara).
They saw the banners that lined the entrance of the legendary Fisher Farm. The Knights Templar had great respect for the place and its owners, particularly Matt Munson, who had signed a contract with the Council of the Damned that the Templars were to enforce and would keep the living safe.
One of the banners read, “Welcome to your new home, Sir Tyrone.”
When the crier spotted them, he shouted loudly. “Sir Tyrone and Lady Beth approach. All hail the return of the Templar Knights.”
(Recovering Ruthless, by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara)
Monday, March 24, 2025
Why We Almost Kept Our Christmas Tree Up Until May 6
The short answer is because we had hoped to celebrate Christmas with Sarah when she came out to the area for Timothy and Daniel's graduation (master's degree) from the University of St. Francis in Joliet the first weekend of May.
The long answer is more complicated.
As I've previously written, our family has journeyed through a couple of very challenging years - and 2025 (as Timothy said) arrived like a wrecking ball.
Still, we were foolishly hopeful 2025 might be a big gentler on us.
Now we could not have known that in December 2024.
But by December 2024, the boys were finishing up master degree classes, Rebekah was hearing rumors of job layoffs, and I was moving from health issue to health issue.
All of this dumped our holiday spirit on the chopping block.
Timothy had put his tree up early so Midnight could enjoy it for her last few days.
Rebekah, who normally loves decorating for Christmas, couldn't muster up the desire for it.
So I put up the tree, starting December 26, my first day of the last few vacation days I still needed to take for 2024.
And I also got sick with whatever respiratory virus was buzzing around at that time.
In a haze of unwellness, and interspersed with playing and napping with Tiny, I put that tree up, the first time I had decorated a tree in years because my work and life schedule gobbled up the time for it.
It took three days that felt like three years. But the tree went up.
I was still sick by New Year's Eve, when I finally put my little tree up in my room.
I was still sick by our family Christmas on January 7, although the virus was on its way out the door.
And I was disappointed at losing the full enjoyment of the Christmas beauty in my house after a blur of months laced with disappointment.
So we made plans to leave Christmas intact, so we could enjoy it with Sarah on her birthday weekend - and she was excited about that, since we haven't spent Christmas together in years.
And then Sarah learned her son's senior prom is that weekend, so she won't be coming out after all.
And then we got hit with a string of more emergencies until we realized all the trees and all the Christmas decor still needed packing up.
So Rebekah and I did that on Friday night.
For as much as we'd like to finally enjoy Christmas, Christmas has moved on.
But memory is a funny thing.
We took few Christmas photos this year because the holiday season was so hard we forgot to take photos.
But I did snap this photo once I finally got the tree done and my mother's old nativity scene in place on top of one of the bookcases, along with puppy Tiny (who's gotten so big since then), all tuckered out.
The scene looks lovely, peaceful, serene, homey.
Looking at this photo, I realized I was completely wrong about missing Christmas.
Christmas had arrived just the same, even if no one felt the full enjoyment of it.
For the spirit of Christmas is true, even if we are not perceiving it.
Some things just ARE and are not based on our perception.
Christmas, for many people, symbolizes love, joy, peace, and - most importantly - hope for a weary, weary world.
May the true spirit of Christmas rest in our hearts today - and may we share that same spirit with all we meet as we venture forth into a new week.
Happy Monday!
Sunday, March 23, 2025
Saturday, March 22, 2025
Friday, March 21, 2025
Story Round-Up: Features in The Herald-News, March 15 through March 21
Good morning!
I have just six feature stories to share with you today at the bottom of this post, since I was in the hospital for a few days, culminating in the diagnosis of an aneurism.
But I did write more than five stories this week - and some will go live this weekend. So be sure to check back on The Herald-News site: shawlocal.com/the-herald-news.
Before the stories I also have a list of additional updates, resources, and information. Please check them out, too.
And if you'd like to find more kindness in your life, consider this book.
And have a great Friday!
Event Updates
Calkins Day 2025 took place at The Book Market in Crest Hill and it was a wonderful celebration of laughter, imagination, generosity, and the release of "Recovering Ruthless," the third book in the BryonySeries Ruthless series by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara.
The book display will remain up at The Book Market through St. Patrick's Day. And we now have some Irish-themed ribbit specials, that you can purchase at a discounted price with every book purchase.
BryonySeries books-in-progress
Bertand the Mouse: Barring any further emergencies in our life, I am working on a special Bertrand the Mouse book this weekend that I'm hoping to give away at a special event. Yes, I'm being mysterious about it...for now.
The Adventures of Cornell Dyer: Cornell Dyer and the House of Horreur" (because the toymaker's last name is "Horreur.") is stalled until Timothy finished his master's degree, which he did. So now we just have to stop having family emergencies (three more this week - our life is like a novel!).
Brainy Ann: The fifth book in The Girls of the BryonySeries is outlined and the first chapter is written, hurray! Jennifer Wainwright, who welcomed her first child into the world last year, is nearly done with the cover portrait. I let this book slide for other BryonySeries projects. But I'm hoping to finish the book in 2025.
Jennifer designed the cover portraits for "Julie and the Too-Hard Homework," "Katie and the Big Fear," "Summer Sisters." and "Karla Joins In," as well as the frontispiece for "Lycanthropic Summer."
Bertrand the Mouse: I have tons of Bertrand photos and books in progress. The goal is to release at least two new ones this year.
Rebekah is also slowly (very, very slowly) updating the BryonySeries YouTube and Pinterest accounts. And she' catching up with Kindles for some of the BryonySeries books. So do watch for those.
For books and more information about the series, visit bryonyseries.com.
RECIPE OF THE WEEK
Sue's Diner is a fictional restaurant in the fictional Munsonville that only exists in the BryonySeries.
Each Wednesday, we post a new recipe. The recipe is either featured in one of our cookbooks, will be featured in an upcoming cookbook, or is just an "extra" we want to share with you.
Check out the recipe here.
WRITERS
If you'd like to officially join WriteOn Joliet, we have two tiers of dues and two ways to attend meetings. We also have a marketing arm that's getting longer every year. Check us out at writeonjoliet.com.
Daily updates: I haven't posted anything on Twitter/X (except a daily Bible verse) since September I can no longer schedule posts in advance. I'm not sure yet how to manage the account without that option. But you're welcome to follow me at @Denise_Unland61.
BryonySeries stuff: I used to curated content relating to the BryonySeries on Twitter/X at @BryonySeries and still post assorted related content at facebook.com/BryonySeries, youtube.com/user/BryonySeries, and themes of each book in the BryonySeries at pinterest.com/bryonyseries.
Again, not sure yet about the direction of the BryonySeries Twitter/X account. Still mulling that over.
And of course, please follow the adventures of Bertrand the Mouse on Instagram at bertrand_bryonyseries.
QUESTIONS
Email me at bryonyseries@gmail.com.Thank you for reading The Herald-News. And for reading this blog. And if you've read (or plan to read) any of my books. Your support is greatly appreciated.
FEATURES
Coal City family’s home ‘looks like an ICU;’ help needed to
get accessible van
Pens family has two with heredity spastic paraplegia
Plainfield District 202, teachers union agree on new
contract
Union President Steve Jepsen: ‘The contract was a win for
both sides’
Chop’d restaurant in Plainfield to host St. Patrick’s Day
improv comedy night
Plainfield to host Hometown Irish run and parade on Sunday
Road closures to begin early Sunday morning
Will County Pets of the Week: March 17, 2025
Will County rescues have dogs and cats for adoption
https://www.shawlocal.com/the-herald-news/2025/03/17/will-county-pets-of-the-week-march-17-2025/
5 Things to Do in Will County: Celebrating National Puppy
Day
Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage"