New Beginnings, the Medieval Way

by Barbara Bettis

Since January, here on the blog we’ve talked about the new year and new beginnings. As spring approaches we have even more of the new as we see the beautiful rebirth of nature after a long, cold winter.

Folks in the Medieval period also celebrated the end of the long, often lean, winter months, with new beginnings in the Spring. Those observances included that of—believe it or not—the New Year.

Medieval Hedging in March

Hedging, done in March



The Spring or Vernal Equinox was welcomed between March 22 and March 25 in the Julian Calendar, used at that time in history. (We see Spring Equinox on March 20 this year.) This was the time when the earth moved from cold weather into warmth and rebirth—new beginnings. An equinox is actually that day of the year at which day and night are of equal length.

The coming of Spring, the start of which was marked by the Equinox, was considered a time of fertility and new life. It was celebrated with special feasts, events, and some good old work. Accordingly, the Medieval New Year began about this time.

Later the church combined pagan equinox and fertility celebrations with the observance of The Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary  known as Lady Day, on March 25. That was celebrated then as the Medieval New Year. Not until a few hundred years later and the adoption of the Gregorian Calendar (1582) did New Year move to January 1.


The Annunciation by Lippi


Pre-Christian spring activities included some pagan practices (of course) such as celebration of the old Saxon/Germanic goddess Ostara, goddess of spring and fertility. Closely aligned with her is the old goddess Eostra, who lends her name to our Easter—and other things. But that’s another story! Incidentally, no matter for what reason the remarkable Stonehenge was created, its stones are set in such a way that the Spring Equinox sun is centered. Currently, the legendary monument is opened for viewers to celebrate the  spring equinox.

medieval spring equinox

Stonehenge at spring equinox


In medieval times, the serious business of spring planting also began in March, with a few early crops going in. Otherwise, more extensive preparation of the ground took place with April the prime planting time for other crops.

Yes, the equinox marked the start of a new year—and it was celebrated seriously, just as the people knew the serious work was beginning of raising enough food to last through the long, cold winter and into the next spring. The next new beginning.







The Beauty of Springtime

by Donna Hatch

Springtime never felt as sweet when I lived in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona as it does here in the Pacific Northwest. For one thing, Arizona’s winter was not bleak; it was a welcome reprieve from all the heat. Though Arizona spring flowers are pretty, and precious because they didn’t last very long, and the fruit trees blossoming always brought a charming touch to an otherwise barren landscape, nothing beats the lush foliage and riot of color here in Washington. 

Admittedly, winters are much more lifeless looking, unless we are treated with a dusting of snow, so the contrast between winter and spring is sharper, but I’ve never seen so many flowers in one place nor such variety. trees in bloom

 Flowers grow wild, and almost everyone has a garden of bulbs and flowering shrubs such as the lovely hydrangeas which make me think of a living bouquet. Flowers here take very little care becaunarcisus in snowse the climate is so nurturing and blossoming trees line almost every street.  The flowers were even bloom if we get a late snow! 

  I used to think I had the worst sort of black thumb, but that was when I lived in Arizona. Now I live in what could rightly be called The Garden State, although that honor belongs elsewhere, I successfully grow flowers and even vegetables. my humble garden

One unique thing about this area is the local growers of daffodils and tulips. One of the nearby towns even has a Tulip Festival which brings thousands of visitors to stroll through the expansive show gardens and fields of flowers. For acres and acres, and miles and miles, gigantic swatches of color blooms. Photos don’t do them justice but I have made the attempt. 

Whenever I walk through or drive by those huge fields, I think of the poem by William Wordsworth about that Daffodils. My mother loves that poemtulip field and often recited it to me when I was a child. I visited his house in England’s Lake District last summer when I was on a huge research trip all over the lovely, inspiring countryside.  

Here is Wordsworth’s poem which he composed while walking through and gazing upon his own garden filled with daffodils:

daffodil fields

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud                                                                                                                      That floats on high o’er vales and hills,                                                                                                           When all at once I saw a crowd,                                                                                                                    A host, of golden daffodils;                                                                                                                        Beside the lake, beneath the trees,                                                                                                                 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

 Continuous as the stars that shine                                                                                                                    And twinkle on the milky way,                                                                                                                         They stretched in never-ending line                                                                                                                  Along the margin of a bay:                                                                                                                          Ten thousand saw I at a glance,                                                                                                                    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

 The waves beside them danced; but they                                                                                                         Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:                                                                                                               A poet could not but be gay,                                                                                                                           In such a jocund company:                                                                                                                              I gazed—and gazed—but little thought                                                                                                           What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie                                                                                                                       In vacant or in pensive mood,                                                                                                                        They flash upon that inward eye                                                                                                                   Which is the bliss of solitude;                                                                                                                      And then my heart with pleasure fills,                                                                                                          And dances with the daffodils.



Beginnings and Rebirths

By Katherine Bone

Every day is a new day –
a day for new beginnings, new dreams, new action –
a day for challenge, adventure, and discovery.
TODAY, what is your goal?
What is your dream?
What action are you taking to further your goals and dreams?
– Jonathan Lockwood Huie

I’m looking forward to 2018 because 2017 was a major struggle. I started battling personal issues; chief among them reintroduced neck problems. My doctor, who is awesome by the way, believes in preventative medicine. A let’s do everything we can to take care of this problem, saving surgery as a last option, type of physician. I’ve had two neck surgeries to replace discs in my C 5-7. So when I started experiencing pain in my neck again last March, I kind of suspected the direction my health was going to take in 2017. Unfortunately, I was right.

Last July, I discovered that I have stenosis in my C 4, the disc above the work I’d previously had done. That revelation led to 6-8 weeks of physical therapy and traction, and when that increased my pain, I began the first of three epidural steroid shots in my neck. The past year has been a very hard road to walk, often excruciating. But the good news is my brain has emerged from the pain fog,snowdrops my body is improving, and though my neck muscles cramp up when I’m at the computer too long, I can honestly say, I can live with this. Huzzah!

Life is a struggle and living a robust existence can lead to injuries later on. A total suck fest, eh? Of course—pardon my pun—that’s life. The hardest thing we face is not only retraining our minds to overcome daily discomfort, but discovering new disciplines that will help us meet our goals. It’s not always easy, is it?

So where am I going with this? Life is like a book. Certainly, stories are intrinsic to life and the relationships we experience. Both have beginnings, middles, and ends, and pages turned one season to the next.

Last April, I got the rights back to my Nelson’s Tea Series and parted ways with a FABulous small press I dearly love, and who was very good to me and my career. The reason for my decision stemmed simply from desiring more control over my books via pricing, marketing, etc. The choice to break away was a hard one to make. Going Indie has certainly been a roller coaster ride with a steep learning curve, but I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. And I’m certainly grateful I was able to get all of my books back so I could start this amazing adventure.

Books-for-Kids_thumb[1]Relaunching my backlist has its ups and downs though. (This is the second time I’ve reinvented several of my books.) Hiring new editors, paying fees upfront, scheduling releases, loading for production and handling advertising while keeping up with a strenuous editing schedule has taken up a great deal of my time. Responsibilities are paramount for every small business, aren’t they? Nevertheless, at times like these, I remind myself I wanted to be in control. Being accountable for my Indie career has been scary, enlightening, and bold. (Pirate!)

The ending of a job or a relationship
may appear as the darkest night,
but it is merely the Winter season –
the time of renewal and rebirth
that precedes the new planting –
the beginning of the next great cycle.
– Jonathan Lockwood Huie

2017 took me to dark places; pain so intense I wanted to die and disappointment on various levels. Taking six books off retail vendors certainly cut into my income. I took the risk knowing that nothing worth having can be gained without first taking action.

2018, however, is filled with potential! Already our family has received a new granddaughter, several members have gotten new jobs, my mother (who’s been living with us for 7 ½ years) moved into a new home and is getting settled, and my brain is starting to fire on all cylinders. I continue to hope that this year will be a time of healing, awareness, and taking better care of me. It will also be the year of what’s old will be made new again, i.e., my Nelson’s Tea Series. I will struggle meeting deadlines and with the production process. But years from now, I believe, I’ll look back and see that the seeds I planted yielded an extraordinary crop.

Beginnings ARE for everyone, ALL THE TIME. Take action, me hearties. Risk doing what you fear most. Agree to the journey. Seek adventure over that horizon. Chisel indecision away. Bloom, in spite of your circumstances, like snowdrops and Crocus in the snow.

You never know when winter will give way to spring.



New Beginnings

By Cathy MacRae

Spring. The groundhog has promised 6 more weeks of winter, but, except for the wind and lack of rain, it’s pretty moderate here in the mid-west. So, I’m already chomping at the bit with an early case of Spring FeverIris and daffodils (1)

Last fall, I got a box of daffodil bulbs, iris roots and daylily roots for my birthday (thanks, mom!) and I can NOT wait for them to bloom. Of course, I grabbed some tulips, hyacinths and other spring bulbs to go in the new flower bed as well. I’m expecting a lot of cheerful faces in a few weeks

It is so exciting to see the green blades pushing through the dry crust of last year’s leaves. So uplifting to know that after a season of rest, everything is about to re-awaken. And with many plants in the garden, each year is better thaTulipsn the last. After a careful pruning, new branches arise, bearing new flowers, more fruit.

 The climbing rose on the back fence will soon take over, spilling fragrant yellow blooms across the metal trellis. The grapes will continue spreading their vines, creating more luscious fruits to share with my granddaughter. The daylilies will multiply, their brilliant faces waving on the ends of tall stalks.

daffodil ruffled apricot centerDaylillies

What new things feed your soul? What do you look forward to most?





I Begin to Write

By Jenna Jaxon


Although I have been a reader since before the first grade, my passion in life has always been writing. Well, writing and theatre, which I actually managed to combine at an early age. When I was in the third grade, I wrote a story based on my life with cats called Miss Priss Finds a Kitten. It was all of 6 pages long (including crayon illustrations) and written in an early version of my cursive handwriting. It wasn’t for an assignment in class, I just wanted to write. And my teacher, Mrs. Sheffield, was amazed at my accomplishment.

I look back on it now and wonder why there was such a fuss over this tale, but apparently it was a big deal in the school. I remember going down the hall to the first grade classes and reading the story to them, a feat because I hated talking in front of people. But it was apparently a success because I went back to my class and promptly put the story into play form, including making puppets of the main characters.

When my teacher discovered this, she again allowed me and a couple of my friends, to take the cardboard puppet theatre and puppets down to the first grade class again to put on the show, which was a great hit as I remember.

My passion continued into fourth grade, where I recall I relished an historical assignment. Mrs. Harris put a picture of what I remember was a pioneer settlement on the board and asked us to write a story about what was happening in the picture. I wrote and wrote and wrote, probably for the rest of the day.

But my crowning glory was in my eighth grade English class. The class was given a one-page writing prompt about a brother and sister who invent a time machine and are whisked away to… and you had to take it from there.

I went nuts. Most people wrote just on the paper, front and maybe the back. Mine ended up being about ten pages long, handwritten on narrow ruled paper. The brother and sister go back in time to the Civil War era and end up stealing some plans to help the South, but end up coming back to the present before they can do anything that will change history. I put in historical facts, clothing descriptions, setting descriptions, the works. And I was over the moon when the teacher handed the assignment back to me with a 100 on it. (I now get a kick thinking my first full length work was a time travel story!)

As you can see, I have always enjoyed writing, although it took me a long time to realize it was something I could do as a career. From the very humble beginnings of Miss Priss Finds A Kitten to my current WIP What a Widow Wants, it’s been a fantastic journey that I feel has only just begun.

New Beginnings Times Two

by Barbara Bettis

This month, the term ‘new beginnings’ is pretty accurate for me. And I’m feeling a bit ambivalent about it.

As the new year dawned, I sold my house. That means I downsized from a three-bedroom, walk-out basement home in the country to a two-bedroom patio home in our small city.


moving van cartoon

I enjoy where I now live. It’s in a quiet residential area and best of all, it’s close to everything. No more driving eight to twelve miles one way to the nearest shopping areas; no more dodging deer who loved to play “who can wait longest to leap in front of Barb’s car;” no more holding my breath as I navigated the icy, snowy hills and curves enroute home in the winter.

But it also means no sitting on my porch to gaze at the expansive night sky, no waking to a handful of wild turkeys playing follow the leader several feet from my bedroom window, or coming home after dark to surprise even more deer dining on fallen apples under one of my three apple trees.

Still, I’m glad I made the decision.

When I moved, however, selecting what I would take with me and what I wouldn’t was a challenge. Most of the extra furniture and household items went to children and grandchildren and much went to donations. Sounds reasonable and for those of you who have moved, it probably sounds familiar.

Unfortunately, the habit of those things remain. I’ve settled into the new place, but I find myself reaching for something I used to have, only to stop and think, “Wait. I got rid of that.”

That’s normal, I imagine. But what has surprised me is I still worry about the house. Just last week I was concerned the new owners wouldn’t know what to do in sub-zero weather to safeguard the basement pipes. Or that they hadn’t set up their propane delivery quickly enough to ensure enough heat. Or…

Friends say the house worries will go away eventually, and slowly I’ll replace all the items I thought I could live without, but can’t.

And finally I’ll get back to a writing schedule that, sad to say, has been seriously affected.

Ironically, when I left, Roark, the hero of my WIP, he faced ‘new beginnings,’ also. Here’s a secret: He’s going to love his even more than I do mine!





Another Birthday, New Traditions

by Ruth Hartman


This month, I’ll turn fifty-five. That’s right – double nickels! It feels weird to say that, because I’m not that old in my head. I still have the same offbeat thoughts I had when I was a kid. When I look in the mirror though…

Anyway, this birthday will be the first one without my mother-in-law, Barbara. She passed away last summer after a painful illness that lasted for the final six months of her eighty-eight years.

When I met my husband, I was eighteen years old. From the start, his mom treated me like a second daughter. Special family meals, Christmas gifts, birthday cards. In fact, my husband’s sister and I share the same birthday. Poor girl, I always felt bad that she ended up sharing her birthday with me, but she never once complained, instead, included me in a joint celebration. That’s my husband’s whole family. Sweet, kind and thoughtful.

Barbara read all of my books. Was always interested in what I was writing and how things were going. Would tell me what characters were her favorites and how much she disliked the villains. I gave her a copy of every new release, even letting her borrow our kindle (she’d never used one before) because she wanted to read one of my historical romances that wasn’t in print. If she knew I had a new book out and she hadn’t received a copy yet to read, I heard about it. 😊 I know without a doubt that my husband and I both got lucky in the in-law department.

Every year on or near my birthday, Barbara would fix me a chocolate cake – my favorite. She always waved away my thanks, saying it was nothing, but it meant a lot to me. It was a wonderful tradition that I always looked forward to. Not only the cake, which was wonderful, but the fact that my husband’s mother was caring enough to make me feel like her own daughter, year after year.

So, this year will be different. Barbara’s absence will be felt. She won’t be at her house waiting for us, cake on the kitchen counter, a smile and birthday greeting when I walk in. But there are so many fond memories, over thirty-six years’ worth, I think those will overshadow the sadness. Time for new memories, new beginnings. Maybe for my birthday, my husband and I can learn to scuba dive, or mountain climb.

Probably not, but I have a feeling he’ll make sure there’s chocolate cake.