Author: Janet Fisher

Friend Launches First Book

Janet Fisher

My friend Kristine Jensen from my writing group just launched her first novel. It’s a delightful story called Wednesday Club about a city girl whose life changes forever when her mother dumps her at her grandparents’ remote South Dakota farm against her wishes.

Kris with that incredible first box of her own books. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of opening a box full of the books you wrote.

Kris was inspired to write this novel when she discovered a box of old handwritten minutes from her own grandmother’s club, the Wednesday Club, a group of South Dakota farm women who kept written records of their meetings from 1927 to 1987, carefully following parliamentary procedure. Kris was born and raised in South Dakota herself, so she has a deep understanding of the land and the folks who have lived on it. Kris now resides in Eugene, Oregon.

With vivid description of place and people she takes the reader into the world of rural South Dakota from the summer of 1963 to 1964, seen not only through the eyes of the fictional seventeen-year-old Ivy, who does not want to be there, but also through the eyes of some of the farm women who have their own crises. These women of course have their Wednesday Club, patterned on the group Kris’s grandmother was a part of. As noted on the back cover of Kris’s book, Ivy’s “grandmother ropes her into the Wednesday Club, a group of six women who gather to swap gossip and try to make sense of the turbulent world of 1963.”

Kris skillfully weaves their stories together with humor that sometimes made me laugh out loud, and with touching moments that evoked tears, and gripping moments that kept me turning pages. Ivy’s experience affects her in ways she never dreamed.

And here in the photo below is our own group at my house at one of our regular meetings. We don’t have a Wednesday Club but we writers do meet on the occasional Saturday to share our progress and frustrations and hopes and plans for whatever writing project we’re working on.

Members left to right: Lynn Ash, Jennifer Newcomb-Marine, Kris, Carol Brownson, and Susan Wyatt. Elizabeth King wasn’t there that day, and I’m not in the picture because I took it.

We do chat a bit about the turbulent world today, but mostly we try to encourage and support each other in what can often be a lonely business–writing books.

Congratulations to Kris on getting her book out there. That’s a major accomplishment. Wishing her the best on her launch.

For more information you can check out Kris’s website at http://www.wednesday-club.com. There you can learn about the real Wednesday Club, the setting on that South Dakota prairie, about Kris herself, and more. The book is available at the usual places. Just look for Kristine Jensen, Wednesday Club. And enjoy!

Promise of a Rose Garden

Janet Fisher4 Comments

Imagine yourself in a deep forest of magnificent timber, and then you step into this.

Sun and cloud shadows sweep across row after row of roses in every color imaginable. I can’t resist taking pictures. Close-ups. Wide angles to show the scope of it.

Does this one have a scent? Mm-m.

And this?

I’m just back from a visit with my family in Portland, Oregon. They live in walking distance from Portland’s renowned rose garden in Washington Park, and my daughter promised we could walk there every day if we liked.

So here I am, ready to share with you some of the splendors of that place.

What a treat to be able to take all the time we want to enjoy this and know we can come back day after day. We took this walk several times, strolling through the woods and then immersing ourselves in the garden.

When I’m between writing projects and it’s time to breathe in, what better place than in the midst of roses.

On a clear day you can even see Mount Hood through an opening in the trees. No doubt they kept that gap on purpose.

The park itself is a wonder of natural beauty with the tall timbers and various features.

The nearby Japanese gardens are exquisite. The zoo is a short distance away.

But on this visit we focused on the rose garden because the roses are in their prime now.

My daughter and dog Ani led the way onto the “Queen’s Walk.”

And to the fountain.

It’s the oldest and largest public rose garden in the United States with more than 10,000 rose bushes. New rose varieties are tested at this International Rose Test Garden where some 650 varieties are displayed. Entry is free and dogs are welcome on leash.

So many roses. So many pictures to take. And to choose from for sharing. Here without comment are a few of my favorites. I can’t tell you the varieties. I only observed and photographed what caught my eye.

And so we depart. Back into the woods. Down the hill. Ready to return another day.

Favorite Farm Photos ~ An Ode to May

Janet Fisher

It’s May! Yes! The prettiest time of year on the farm. So said my father when I told him one April day that April must be the prettiest with all its green and flowers. “No,” he said. “May is.” Not something I expected to hear from this reserved man. Well, now it’s May and I’m sure he was right. In honor of May I’d like to present a rollout of pictures of critters that share this farm with us, all these selected photos thanks to my son-in-law Robin Loznak, award-winning photographer, whose work can be seen in publications around the world. And here.

Robin specializes in wildlife photography. Here he is getting a close-up of a very tiny critter, a picture I took a few years ago for another post. That’s a part of his wildlife specialty–bees, elegant praying mantises, dragonflies, and more. They all shine in his photos.

He and my daughter Carisa live on the farm too so they’re able to enjoy the place founded by my great-great-grandmother Martha Maupin in 1868 and maintained by my father, Gene Fisher, for many years. Robin kindly lets me use his photos on my blog, whatever I need to illustrate a story.

Here are some of my favorite photos he’s taken of wildlife on the farm. Some are old favorites you may have seen before. Some were new to me.

You know what I heard? . . . Mm-m? I’m listening. Baby barn owlets perch in the old barn in a prune box placed there by Robin for a safe nest. Sharing stories? Maybe.

Acorn woodpecker leaving its home in the gate post. Going out for dinner? Probably.

Female Northern Harrier (Marsh Hawk) like one that swept over my shoulder one day and hovered in front of me before making a sharp turn to fly away. See the story here.

Male Northern Harrier in aerobic flight like one that appeared while I was writing Martha’s story. A hawk like him is pictured in the book.

Hummingbird on a wire watching lunch.

Acrobatic kestrel coming in for a soft landing.

Honeybee ready to sip from a blossom and spread pollen around.

What did you say? See a poetic description of a mantis in “Portraits of a Century Farm” here. The Century Farm is a Sesquicentennial Farm now, but the collection was done before it was.

Exquisite detail of beauty on the wing of this dragonfly.

This bobcat may be the one we called Scamp when he became such a frequent visitor. Scampered right up to the house one day.

You can’t see me, can you? My mama hid me and told me to stay right here.

Better go now. Which way? Which way? Roosevelt elk making quick decisions. See another elk photo with poetry among the “Portraits” collection here.

What is that looking at me, Mama? See another of the “Portraits” here for a poetic description of the encounter, “Making Scents.”

Robin said he used an extreme telephoto lens to take this shot. I’m happy to report that no one, man or animal, was harmed in this photo shoot.

Peeking out at you. Did you ever see a salamander so cute?

And with that, my friends, I close out our ode to May with some of my favorite Robin Loznak photos of wildlife on our farm. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed putting it together.

Thank you, Robin, for sharing your beautiful work.

Calving Time at Martha’s Farm

Janet Fisher
Photo I took April 14 in 2018. I love the little white heart on the face of the nearest one.

April is usually the beginning month for calving here, although many farmers choose to calve earlier. The cows on our farm are gentle. They let you walk right through the herd, even when a cow is calving, although I keep an eye out for a nervous mama. They aren’t my cows. Ed and Mary Cooley rent pasture on the farm as they did when my dad was still here. But I get to enjoy the babies. I think these cows are gentle because Ed spends time with them, moving them from pasture to pasture, often daily. And in winter and early spring he adds hay to their pasture for feed.

An hours-old calf gets a lick from its mother on Friday, April 15, 2011. (Credit Image: © Robin Loznak)

The above picture by my son-in-law Robin appeared in my book A Place of Her Own, the story of my great-great-grandmother Martha Maupin who founded this farm in 1868, now a sesquicentennial farm. The picture illustrated a moment described in one of the Interludes in the book that told of my search for Martha’s story. My dad, Gene Fisher, farmed the place for 75 of those 150 years, more than any other owner in the family’s history. The fourth and last Interlude closes with the morning after he died.

The morning broke, bright and sunny. . . . We looked out the kitchen window to the apple tree across the nearby creek. A new black calf stood on wobbly legs beneath the tree, his mother gently licking his back. The first calf of the season had been born in the night. . . . I wished I could share with Martha the hope I found in this place and in the wonderful creatures who lived here with us. After the long dark night, there would be a bright new morning.

And new calves.

(The Globe Pequot Publishing Group, pp. 202-203)

The same little one as pictured at the top . . . with Mama watching. Or coming my way? Here’s looking at you.

Martha’s Farm Featured Again

Janet Fisher2 Comments

A new story on the farm’s sesquicentennial status came out in the April edition of the Douglas Electric Company monthly magazine. April was the month my great-great-grandmother Martha Maupin purchased the family farm in 1868.

The story with photos: the book, me with the hills behind, me at five, and Martha’s house she had built for herself and her many children.

Craig Reed, local writer, visited the farm and talked with my daughter Carisa Cegavske and me before writing the cover story which got a nice spread, shown above. The farm would have qualified in 2018 but I didn’t put in the application until 2024.

Martha was the subject of my first published book, pictured in Craig’s story, A Place of Her Own: The Legacy of Oregon Pioneer Martha Poindexter Maupin, published by Globe Pequot Press. I didn’t have to write a book to qualify the farm for sesquicentennial status, but my research for the book certainly helped me put together the extensive information required for the application.

I grew up on this farm. The little girl curtseying in her overalls is me enjoying the freedom I experienced there. When my dad died in 2007 Carisa and her husband Robin Loznak decided to join me in keeping the farm. I had been away all my adult years so it was quite a change from city life I experienced in the interim. Their son Alex Loznak moved there with us, as well as my other daughter, Christiane Cegavske, and her child, Aspen Boutilier. Carisa, Robin and I still live there.

I love the farm’s hills for walking, and the quiet, where I find inspiration to write my books. My whole family loves the beauty of the land, the rich history, the wildlife. Christiane, Aspen and Alex visit as often as they can. That’s easier now for Christiane and Aspen, who lived in Kansas for ten years and now live in Portland, Oregon. Alex took a stint in New York City, then Eugene, Oregon, but he’s in Portland now too.

We all take pride that Martha was the founder of this farm, a woman who dared take on this treasure when it wasn’t all that easy for a woman to do.

Carisa in the purple and me in navy on the cover.

Equinox and Spring

Janet Fisher

Today marks the spring equinox when days and nights are equal. And the earth’s axis lines up so both hemispheres get the same sunlight. We give passing thought to this moment nowadays, though some of us cling to the hope that spring has come. But in the far distant past when most folks depended on these markers for scheduling the vital business of producing crops and other significant events in their lives it was important to observe this phenomenon. Perhaps even more central was the spiritual meaning. It must have represented for many a time of rebirth.

Knowth Passage Tomb, River Boyne Valley, Ireland

Many people know about the solstice alignment of the Newgrange passage tomb in Ireland where the rising sun on winter solstice shines right up the long passageway to the inner chamber, but a few miles up the River Boyne Valley another passage tomb has an east-west alignment which may suggest that its passageways were designed to receive the sun’s light at equinox. This is the large central tomb of Knowth. Alterations of the passages during reconstruction may have affected the course of the light, whether sun or moon, but many of the kerbstones are carved with images of the sun and moon.

Kerbstone at Knowth Passage Tomb

The people who constructed these great monuments surely honored the signs in the skies that affected their lives. I had the privilege of visiting Knowth and Newgrange just last April when I was doing site research for my book set in Ireland and snapped the above photos. You can see part of the large tomb in the upper photo with several of the distinctive satellite tombs around it. Some of the kerbstones can also be seen at the base in that upper photo, and one more clearly in the closeup.

At home this year I think we’re clinging to the hope of spring more than usual as multiple days of heavy rains caused flooding of rivers and streams, while also saturating soils that sent mudslides down the slopes to block roads.

The road up the hill on my farm. Robin Loznak photo.

There’s that old saying about March coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb. Well, we were enjoying day after day of warm spring weather early in March.

The photo below was taken on March 10. Much more lambish than lionish, I’d say.

Early daffodil bloom on a March morning on the farm.

You never know about March. But I think we’re ready for spring and more of those sunny, lamb-like days.

Springing Out Again

Janet Fisher

Hey! The daffies are out and the sun is shining. It’s even warm. I had to take my coat off on my walk this afternoon. Everything brimmed with the hope of new life.

The mighty Oregon Oak stands tall against the blue sky, its many clusters of mistletoe clear to see on the branches still bare of leaves.

One of my favorite trees, it’s just up the hill from my house. I pass it often on my daily walks when I do the uphill first.

Grass seems brighter. Sure does feel like spring. Of course nothing is certain about western Oregon weather in late February or even March. Yesterday the wind was hurling rain against my windows. But I’ll happily cling to whatever snippets of spring we get.

I walked on up the hill, feeling good. This morning I finished a long book project–reading through the entire series I had revised, making sure everything flowed together.

I paused to look up into the tree’s branches overhead, tangled as the stories, but every gnarled limb knew its place and carried the tree’s essence to the buds that would one day open and breathe out life. I had felt each of my stories, as if those glimpses into history breathed with life too.

Longer Days

Janet Fisher

Yesterday was Winter Solstice and I went outside to try to capture a moment of the new morning light. Clouds covered much of the sky but left a few thinner spots where a bit more light promised to shine through. I kept thinking I had the most light I was going to get for a picture of this gnarly oak above my house who’s seen many a solstice morning in its long life. And I took one picture after another that wasn’t quite there.

I almost gave up on a full sun until this happened.

A sudden full spray of sunlight brightened the green moss on the sunny side of the leaning trunk, the two larger branches seeming to reach for the warmth. I let out a cry of joy and snapped this photo. Even in the distance you can see firs and plains caught in the broadening light.

Earlier that morning people at Newgrange in Ireland had waited with great hope as the sun hid behind a low bank of clouds. From my researches I knew what an important day Winter Solstice was for them. Some 5,200 years ago Neolithic people with little more than stone tools had built the stone passage tomb of Newgrange with such precision that on Winter Solstice morning the sun would enter through a small doorway and shine all the way down a narrow passage to an inner chamber and touch waiting ashes and bones of the dead.

You can see the square hole for the sun’s entry just above the people’s heads in my photo of the great tomb. And it still works!

On this solstice morning I watched Irish Central’s livestream of the event at Newgrange. It was a replay of course. They’re eight hours ahead of us, but I still felt the excitement of the moment. Great crowds had arrived for the occasion this year, and a few lucky people were finally allowed to enter the passage, winners of a raffle that had drawn hundreds of thousands of hopefuls. Each winner was allowed to choose one person to experience this phenomenon with them.

Like Oregon where I live, Ireland has its share of rainy mornings so the sun doesn’t enter that passage every year. Would it break through this time? I felt the excitement and optimism shared by the commentators. Then, with sudden splendor, the sun lifted above that dark bank of cloud and shone down the passageway to the inner chamber.

With a thrill I recalled that I had been in that very chamber myself just this year. Back in April. That’s the sun’s doorway into Newgrange behind me in my profile photo. I traipsed past the great carved kerbstone with its mysterious designs cut deep in the surface. I drew in my shoulders to walk through the long, narrow passage where more designs were carved in the stone uprights that hemmed us in. Once in the chamber I gazed up at the corbelled roof to the capstone on top, so meticulously constructed it still doesn’t leak after 5,200 years. We didn’t see the sun come down the passage, but the event was simulated. Our guides struck all the interior lights, leaving us in darkness, and then sent a stream of artificial light down the narrow way to fill the inner chamber.

What amazing symbolism! How important it must have been to the builders to create such a monument. We cannot know the minds of these builders. Yet I think it was the commentators who said, “Nothing ends with darkness and death. New light always follows.” This must have been a powerful belief in the people all those years ago.

Today, in our own way, we can take comfort in longer days and in the light that must follow the darkness. After I got my picture of bright sun on the old oak, I turned and strode down the hill into the sunshine.

Promise of Yesteryear

Janet Fisher

One December morning last year I woke to this and snapped a picture which I posted on Facebook with a short comment, “Sunrise! New day. New hope. New promise.”

On this morning’s gray, rainy morning I looked back with some yearning for such a day.

The year in between has had its ups and downs. I took a wonderful trip to Ireland and Hallstatt, Austria, to check on scenes for my latest book–Ireland because it’s the center of the story, Hallstatt because that’s where the Celts were at the time of this dip into the ancient world of the setting. Another highlight came when my daughter Christiane got a job in Portland, Oregon, and she and Aspen moved back west after ten years in Kansas. One more highlight was an excellent writers conference in Seattle where I pitched that latest book, and those pitches went well.

I’ve always been a glass-half-full kind of person. And I need to move forward embracing hope. Without a new novel in the works right now I’m working on a companion book for the series which is related to my newest Irish story. I had already drafted parts of this companion book, but it shifts as my focus shifts. In the last few days I’ve been going back through old travel journals of my first trip to Ireland, reliving some experiences there.

The beauty of the land in its cloak of many greens. The wonder of great stone monuments with their intriguing mysteries, like the passage tomb of Newgrange, below. [The photos below are all from my 2024 trip; I didn’t have a digital camera on the first Irish visit.]

The magic of an exquisite woodland where wind spoke between great oaks. My traipses across green fields with my ready umbrella as boiling clouds opened and let streams of sunshine through to create one of those many Irish rainbows. Stunning cliffs descending into surging waters at the Cliffs of Moher.

And the birds. Oh, the birds! Were they ravens? Or rooks? Or jackdaws? All cousins of the common crow. The latter two weren’t familiar to me. We don’t have those where I live. But whatever the bird we saw great flocks of them sweeping across the historic Hill of Tara and others hovering around the haunting Rock of Cashel where they nested in those stone niches. My daughters joined me on part of that trip and marveled with me. [This morning I spent hours online trying to determine what birds we saw, listening to sample bird calls, reading about the different behaviors, watching videos of onsite tours, and my guess is that the bird shown below outside the Rock of Cashel tower is a jackdaw. And I’m guessing the birds at Tara were rooks.]

In this companion book I want to share the journey, the joys, and the challenges of my research to offer background for the novels.

So in these gray days some streams of sun shine through and I find purpose. May the promise of yesteryear sustain me. I wish such hope and promise for you, my good readers.

November Blues … and Breathing

Janet Fisher

The dark days of November have come upon us. A darkness that can bring us down.

Today the forecast looked like rain all day. Then I glanced up from my morning tea and saw that the sun had come out. Better get my walk in fast. But by the time I got bundled up skies had already darkened again. I grabbed my umbrella and went out anyway.

As I tromped down the road through the drizzle remembering October’s warm sunshine my thoughts turned to the stages of writing–the light and the dark. The spark of inspiration. The thrill of creation. You put so much of yourself into the project. It’s a bit like breathing a long breath out. And it’s such a bright, light feeling. So when that’s done what to do next? Well, I guess you have to take some breaths in. Read. Watch movies. Restore.

After I got back to the house from my drizzly walk I thought I would take a picture of the dreary day–just to reinforce and share my gloom. That’s when I snapped the photo at the top and what do you know. The light just had to shine through those heavy clouds and create a sweeping bright spot. Not for long, though.

Still feeling a keen sense of the dark I wrote a draft for this post and when I thought I was finished I looked up and saw that I would have to take another picture. This is what happened.

So there we are. You never know. Out of the dark comes the light. Blue skies. Hope. Inspiration will come again. We’ll find a way through the darkness. Time to breathe in and find peace.