New Book Coming Soon.

This is the cover for my next book. What's neat about it is that the couple on the cover are celebrating their 60th anniversary—the year was 1910—and they are Galen's great grandparents. They almost made it to 75 years.

This was another fun book for me to compile. As always, I love the strange and funny stories but I also enjoyed the historical stories of newlywed couples who came here from other countries or loaded up a wagon and headed west. Like this one:

Papers full of domestic scandals. Statisticians pouring forth awful figures about the increase of divorce. Theorists gloomily announcing the downfall of the American home. Children with from two to four sets of parents. Plenty of such things. But let’s tell a story that’s different.

Fifty years ago a young fellow named Eph Hastings married a comely girl in the little town of Keokuk, Iowa. Of a $500,000 pearl necklace, tapestries, silverware, automobiles, banknotes and things like that they hadn’t much but they had courage and each other’s hearts, and you may be sure that there’s not much “water” in that sort of stock when love’s merger is successfully promoted.

Well, Eph and his young wife turned their backs on Keokuk society and, with their little all of worldly goods, joined a mule train to cross the great plains to the land where the setting sun paints glory on land and sea and in its rising from behind majestic mountains makes praise of God spring from the heart of man.

Then, for weeks and weeks the train crept across prairie and desert, through the cold shadows of valleys that cleft the mountains, across streams too deep to wade. Water was scarce very often, too. Food sometimes ran low. And at night the wolves howled while campfires on distant hills made the women and children crowd close to the men who sat with men with loaded guns on their knees. Indians butchered men, women and children of a train that was following them. Two days later came news that Indians had knifed, scalped, and horribly tortured to the last human being a big train that was ahead of them.

One evening Buffalo Jim, notorious as the most bloodthirsty chief of all Indians, visited their camp. All the people of the train prayed that night and Eph sat with one arm around his bride and the other around his rifle for Buffalo Jim meant horrible death. But something pleased Jim and there was no massacre and so through more hardships and terrors the train went creeping into the west and it was altogether such a honeymoon trip for Eph and his wife as few couples ever pass through.

What a freak this thing named love is! Often it seems to refuse to live with people who have everything. Then again, it forever abides with and grows strong and everlasting with couples who have little, who go through hardships, misery, terrors and even shame together and is, in joy and sorrow, in pleasure and pain, in success and defeat, up to—nay, beyond—the very doors of death the glory of glories of human life.

But we mustn’t leave Eph honeymooning out back there in that mule train. We’re going to life him out of that mule train fifty years forward, fifty years of loyalty, struggle and triumph over the trials of life. At San Diego last Christmas day, Mr. Eph Hastings and the wife who crossed the plains with him celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. He was very gray and bewhiskered but still sturdy. She couldn’t hide all her wrinkles but her face was still round and sweet, and in her eyes was the light of Christmas 1861. Yes sir, they stood up before Rev. C.J. Harris and were married all over again before a crowd of children and grandchildren. Eph took the dear old lady in his arms, kissed her and swore to cherish and protect her until death. It was just beautiful. And the light on their faces proved that there are such things as loyalty and love that do not die. The Chicago Day Book, January 2, 1912.

An interesting but far less ornate wedding.

During medieval times a woman who had nothing when she was married escaped responsibility for her debts. Women were then often married in a single garment to relieve themselves of indebtedness. A young and noble German lady of the sixteenth century, to make assurance doubly sure, had the marriage ceremony performed while she was standing in a closet entirely divested of clothing. She put out her hand through the crack of the door and was thus married. As soon as the ceremony was performed the groom, clergyman and witnesses left the room. The bride then came out arrayed in clothes provided by her husband and took her place at the marriage feast. The Western Kansas World, (WaKeeney, Kansas) October 14, 1893.

An unusual marriage!

Galen and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary with both a trip to Colorado Springs and a party here. We may continue to celebrate all year. :-)

I've been back at "work" (really way more like play) on an anniversary book but there are some marriages and divorces too impressive not to be included. This one, from an 1891 newspaper is one of them.

This is an example of the henna hand painting referred to in this article from ArtIsFun.com. It is an art form that is still pursued today. Now, on to the article:

It was evening when we started off to a Moorish wedding, one of the most interesting sights of Morocco. We found our way to a low, whitewashed house, which the ladies of the party entered. The gentlemen had to remain outside as no man is permitted to look on a Moorish lady. We found ourselves in a short passage leading into the “patio,” a square hall around which the rooms are built. The patio was crowded with women squatting on the floor, some sipping tea and eating sweet cakes; others (the paid musicians) sing in a low, nasal chant to the accompaniment of tom-toms.
 

Passing through these we came into the room where the bride sat in state. The atmosphere was stifling. She was surrounded by lady friends and relatives, many of whom held long lighted candles. The room was long and narrow. Its ceiling was painted in brilliant colors and the whitewashed walls for about six feet were hung with a handsome dado of crimson velvet in panels, each panel being a Moorish arch appliqué in green broche with gold embroidery. Behind white lace curtains at each end of the room stood a bed with pillows encased in Moorish embroidery on silk, a valence of the same reaching to the ground.
 

On one of these beds sat the bride, tailor fashion, with a veil of checked musline entirely enveloping her. This was presently raised and disclosed the lady to our view. She was a girl of fourteen and, being very fat, was considered a beauty. To be fat is considered a woman’s greatest attraction. Indeed, when nearing a marriageable age it is common for girls to lie for weeks covered with warm blankets, passing their time in dozing and feeding on a fattening diet of milk, “boos koosoo” (the native dish), oil, peas, or a certain bean supposed to be infallible as a fat producer.

Her face presented the most extraordinary appearance, being painted white with a delicate pattern in pale blue, yellow, and black on a three cornered patch of crimson on each cheek and chin. The eyebrows were indicated by a thin line of dense black and from the corners of the eyes, which were blackened, extended a fan shaped design in black to the top of the ears. The tips of her fingers and toes were dyed terra cotta with henna. Aysha (so she was called) was clad in a gorgeous kaftan of red silk and gold brocade, embroidered in gold and reaching to her ankles. Her undergarments were pure colored brocade and her waistcoat green velvet and gold. Over the kaftan hung a light gauze garment, open down the front and confined by a band of gold and silk in many colors.
 

Her headdress was composed of silk handkerchiefs pinned around so as to show a narrow edge of each on the forehead. Above these came a band of black velvet with a close design of seed pearls and emeralds. Her neck was encircled by many necklaces, principally strings of pearls, with occasional uncut emeralds and amethysts. She further wore a number of rings and bracelets and anklets of a costly but clumsy description. The most remarkable piece of jewelry was the earrings, which were as large as an ordinary bracelet, the part going through the ear being a tube of gold quite half an inch in diameter. The girls accustom their ears to this by pressing date stones through the hole. At the front of the earrings was an ornament of gold filigree and precious stones, to which was attached a gold chain fastened by a brooch to the headdress. Her outfit was completed by a pair of velvet and gold slippers.
While we were gazing at her we heard a cry in the patio, which was quickly taken up by the women in the bridal chamber. The bridal veil was immediately dropped and the women assumed their helks, a long, white woolen shawl. The reason for this commotions was the entrance of Aysha’s brother, a tall Moor in a dark blue cloth djellabea and white turban. He seated himself on the bed in front of his sister and she, putting her arms around his neck, was carried pickaback into the patio. Here the women were congregated around a curious wooden box swathed in bridal clothes. At one side was an opening where the Moor knelt. The bride climbed over his head and into the box. Draperies were dropped over the opening and Aysha, in her cage, was hoisted on a mule at the door of the house.
 

The procession then formed up, the musicians playing drums and leading the way followed by Moors carrying brass candelabras with colored candles. Then came the bride’s box, surrounded by twenty or thirty Riffians doing a wild, fantastic “powder play” with their long brass or silver mounted guns. Then more candles and a long array of friends. In this way is the bride borne to her husband’s home, no matter how far it may be.
 

Then the box is lifted down to the threshold and the bridegroom’s mother comes with a bowl of milk a loaf of bread and salt for the bride to taste. The keys are the delivered to her and with the old lady, keeping in front the box, the bride crawls out, crawls on to her mother-in-law’s back and is carried to the bridal chamber, there, still veiled, to be locked in alone. The mother then delivers the key to the room to her son, who goes to unveil and look for the first time on his bride.—From the London Graphic and printed in The Rock Island Daily Argus, November 11, 1891.

Isn't "pickyback" a great word?

I am grateful I was married in the USA in 1966.  :-)