A ‘River Rat’ and a Raft

Recently, I was asked, “Just what is a river rat, anyway?”

In the fly-leaf of ‘Journeys Across Niagara’, I describe myself as growing up on the Upper Niagara River, as a ‘river rat’—(I didn’t think anyone actually read fly-leafs anymore.)

Well, let’s go to the source for the answer—Wikipedia:

“…a large, herbivorous, semiaquatic rodent and the only member of the family Myocastoridae. Originally native to subtropical and temperate South America, it has since been introduced to North America, Europe, Asia, and Africa, primarily by fur ranchers. Although it is still valued for its fur in some regions, its destructive feeding and burrowing behaviors make this invasive species a pest throughout most of its range. There are two commonly used names in the English language for Myocastor coypus. The name “nutria” (or local derivatives such as “nutria- or nutra- rat”) is generally used in North America… In Italy the popular name is “nutria”, but it is also called castorino (“little beaver”), by which its fur is known.”

Quoting from Elvira Woodruff, The Christmas Doll (2000):

“To her horror, she discovered that the rope she was holding was not a rope at all, but a tail. And attached to the tail was a large river rat that scrambled frantically in midair, thrashing to get away.”

Whoa – let’s just wait a minute there fella– ‘a large rodent’?– ‘an invasive pest’? - that ain’t a gonna do it.  ’A semiaquatic rat’ called “little beaver”?   That’s not what I want on my tombstone. What do they know?  Who reads the lousy Wikipedia anyway? And,we all know how shallow internet research is, — don’t we? (see ‘Research-the Writer’s Mantra’).

Let’s check another source – one that understands real people. How about the Urban Dictionary?

 “Someone who either lives or represents El Rio, California. Usually low life wannabe gangsters who frequent Wal-Mart stores and attempt to steal sh_ _ only to be caught and think they are bad ass mofos. They start fights only to run away from it.”

Say what? I’m either a hairy wet rodent or a Wal-Mart wannabe gangsta?

Well—how much can a dictionary that calls itself ‘urban’ know anyway? Bet they never even seen a real river.

Ok – let’s go to the master book of definitions itself – Webster’s Merriam Dictionary.

Nothing. No entry – it’s not in the dictionary.

They’re kidding right? Now, I don’t even exist? Wait – here’s something in the Expanded Webster Merriam (so, I do exist – I’m just rare):

“…one who spends his leisure time on or along a river.”

Ok, that’s getting closer, but, it’s rather bland, isn’t it?

Wait a minute…what do we have here? This looks more like it:

“Trademark Search > Trademark Category > Clothing Products > WHAT IS A RIVER RAT? DEFINITION OF A RIVER RAT (RI-VER RAT) N. Mammal, Unique and rare breed. Thrives best on or near water. Usually travels in groups, but may be spotted alone. Capable of consuming mass quantities of adult beverages. Peaceful by nature, respects others, loves life. Heavily concentrated in Louisiana, but can be found worldwide. WARNING: APPROACH WITH CAUTION IF PROVOKED.” Legal Source

Now we’re getting somewhere, or as Betty Bryant wrote in ‘Here Comes the Showboat!’ (1994):

“While other children were learning how to walk, I was learning how to swim, and I knew how to set a trotline, gig a frog, catch a crawfish, and strip the mud vein out of a carp by the time I was four. Dad called me a river rat.”

That a girl, Betty! Ride that boat!

Being a ‘rat’ on the Niagara River (actually it’s not a river at all, but a ‘strait’, see ‘The Niagara River – a Wonder of Creation’) I wasn’t in wonder of the mighty Niagara Falls, located downriver. I feared it greatly, viewing it as a threat—as the ultimate and final judgment for my escapades.  More than once, I found myself fighting to escape the swift current, carrying me to that huge, misty cloud ahead, as various capers went astray. Rather than captivating me, like it did the crowds of  ’ohhing‘ and ‘ahhing‘ tourists, it scared the living daylights out of me. I’d look downriver and loath that huge cloud on the horizon, knowing that while I tinkered and toyed along the length of the river, it was always there, beckoning and calling to me with open arms to enter its eternal embrace.

Not that I ever did anything stupid, you understand. Things just seemed to happen for no reason of my own. It was the ‘river gods’. They were out to get me. It’s true. I’ll give you an example and you’ll see what I mean. How about an ordinary Bass fishing trip?

Navy Island is a small island that sits off of Grand Island, in the middle of the Niagara River, just a short distance above the brink of the mighty Niagara Falls.

The current along the island is fast, around 8 to 12 miles per hour, picking up speed as it approaches the abyss ahead. It’s also home to one of the best Smallmouth Bass drifts in the entire river (some great Musky fishing too). Get in a boat, shoot to the upper tip of the island, put the motor in neutral and drift the length of the island and you’ll tangle with some of the most beautiful three to five-pound smallies anywhere.  Great fishing – if you have a boat, but make sure your motor is running  - you wouldn’t want to stall here! The picture below shows the downriver end of Grand Island, with Navy Island off to the left and the Falls above it.)

Well, at the time of this fishing trip, I was 16 years wise and did, in fact, have a small, 12 foot aluminum Jon boat with an old, beat up 18 horse outboard on it. It was dinged up pretty bad and wasn’t much as far as boats on the Niagara go, but it worked, and to me it was the Queen Mary luxury liner. Unfortunately, at that time, it was sitting on the bottom of Lake Erie at a place called Sturgeon Point, after a Coast Guard Officer emptied a full clip of .45 hollow point bullets into it (but that’s another story).

Meanwhile, it was the peak of the Smallmouth bite and I was determined not to be left out. I managed to get possession of a 10 foot inflatable rubber raft that had a 3 ½ HP motor on it, a friend used on a small, inland lake. I tested it out – the raft didn’t leak and the motor ran good – so I was going bass fishing.

At daybreak, on the shore of Grand Island, I pumped up the raft with a foot pump, fastened the motor to the mount, loaded up all my gear, and pushed off for Navy Island. It was slow going, cutting across the swift current, to cover the  half mile to the upper tip of Navy Island, but I finally made it and was elated and feeling quite pleased with myself that I was going to get in on the fishing. I cast out a chartreuse Mister Twister, topped off with a live crawfish, and got ready for the action as I started the first drift.

It didn’t happen.

Unless I was trolling for birds, the drift was too fast for the lure to sink as it skipped across the surface. I put on a half ounce drop sinker—no go. One ounce – no good. Two ounces – still not working. The inflated raft, riding on top of the surface, having no hull friction below the waterline, skimmed across the surface – like a surfboard catching a wave at Maui. By now, I’d drifted down to the end of the island and it was time to motor back up to start another drift. Those 3 ½ horses barely moved me against the current, but after enough time to read “Crime and Punishment” a couple of times through, I arrived back at the head of the Island, ready for another drift, and – I had a plan. The slow journey back up the river had given me plenty of time to figure out a solution. I untied the anchor rope from the five-pound mushroom anchor, and strung the rope through the hole of the anchor. I then tied one end of the rope to one side of the back of the raft and the other end to the opposite side, with the anchor riding free in the middle. Ready to start the drift, I tossed the anchor overboard. It quickly sunk and I could feel it bouncing along the bottom of the river as the raft drifted.

It worked great! The dragging anchor slowed the raft down to enable the perfect drift, and if the smallies cooperated, it was going to be a great fishing day!

I had boated (rafted?) a nice three-pounder and was setting the hook on a second one, when all hell broke loose. The anchor snagged the bottom of the river and didn’t bounce – but held fast.  With the raft anchored firm on the river’s bottom while being pushed hard by the current on the river’s surface, the ten-foot raft instantly became a five-foot raft as it buckled in the middle, with the back half going completely underwater – motor and all.With half the raft underwater, and the river claiming the rest, inch by inch, everything that was in – went out – into the river and either sunk or floated, carried off by the current. Tackle box, rods, lunch – everything. When the bait box of crawfish went down, I had a fleeting thought of seeing the largest smallie in Niagara inhaling it and flipping me a “Thank you” with a smirk on its face.

But I was losing the raft fast. In a panic, I began sawing through the anchor rope with my pocket knife. When the last strand finally let go, the back of the raft popped up out of the water, like a jack-in-the-box. Whew—tragedy averted! Everything was gone, but the motor was still mounted on the back of the raft. Thank God!

Yanking on the starter cord, it didn’t start. Again – nothing; and again—and again. Nothing. Not a purr. Not a putt. Not a cough. Water ran out of the housing. Looking around, no boats were anywhere in sight. The shore of Navy Island was only about 70 feet away, but the raft was surfing by it and would soon be past the Island. Again I panicked—once past the Island, there was nothing between me and those thundering cataracts downriver. Looking ahead, I could see that ominous cloud on the horizon and I swear it was grinning.

Holding the rope in one hand, I dove into the river and began swimming for Navy Island. I knew if I didn’t reach the shore before the current carried me past the Island, I’d be fish food. I swam as hard as I could. But swim like I did, I was losing ground. The raft was flying with the current – and was taking me with it. I let go of the rope and swam like the devil for the island (believe me, the devil can swim).

Nothing in my life ever felt as good as when I felt ground under my feet as I was about to past the end of the island.

Pulling myself onto the shore, I sat there, watching the raft skimming along the surface, until I couldn’t see it any more.  After fulfilling my need to scream and kick a bunch of trees and rocks, I started waving and hollering for help. Finally, another fisherman came along (having a real boat), who gave me a ride back to Grand Island.

I never did know what happened to the raft.

So you see, it wasn’t anything on my part that caused me to fear and dislike the Falls – it was those river gods that didn’t like me and were out to get me. You can see that—right?

Later in life, I made amends with the Falls. Upon going down into the gorge below the cataracts, I was in wonder of the great canyon, the awesome rapids and the lush beauty of this glorious place that was right under my nose all these years. I was consumed by the mystery of it. I realized Niagara was actually two rivers, the “Upper” and the “Lower” Niagara, and they were as different as night is from day. One is an open faucet, emptying the ‘Great Lakes’, with a roar and thunder in a cloud of mist. The other is a living monument, craving across the earth, leaving a trail of beauty and attitude.

Much has been written about Niagara over the years, most about the mighty cataracts—little about the Niagara Gorge. This is truly amazing, when one considers the beauty, the challenge and the extensive, exciting history that engulfs the lower river  .          

Regardless of where on Niagara – Upper, Lower or the Cataracts themselves, my heart resides in the River, watching—listening to the “water”. When the time comes for me to depart this life, my ashes will finally fold into those beckoning arms of Niagara, and like the ‘Hermit of Niagara’, I’ll be ‘one with the water‘…

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

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You Be The Judge

The day dawned in shadows, with a chilling bite, but the air sizzled with anticipation.

An exhilarated populace began gathering on the streets outside the Federal Hall building. Excitement rippled through the crowd, as both, the passion and the history of the moment was felt by all. Numbering over 10,000, they came from different nationalities, cultures, religious beliefs, economies and walks of life. But even with the many differences, there was unity. They were freedom fighters–war-weary and battle-scarred, bloodied—but unbowed. Their cities had been leveled, their homes had been burnt, their families defiled and murdered. They had fought the greatest nation in the world; a nation so strong and vast that it was said “the sun never set” on its empire – and they had been triumphant.

It was April 30, 1789 and they were revolutionaries and founders of a new experiment in government.

Great Britain was the most powerful nation on the face of the globe, having colonized the majority of the known world. She had the mightiest of armies and strongest of navies with which to defend, expand and enforce her influence.

The Colonies were not united, and argued and bickered among themselves. They were independent and separate from one another. They had no army, no navy, no defenses and no organization. Only some scattered, independent and largely ineffective militias calling themselves ‘soldiers’. They were economically weak from over taxation, and were not in agreement as to independence and breaking free of Great Britain. They haggled constantly, debated everything and only reluctantly reached agreements. They withheld monies, muskets and men to support the revolution and resisted attempts as unified leadership. During the long struggle, many ‘Tories’ gave supplies, support and information to the enemy. Many more, just plain weren’t interested, being too busy with their own struggles to survive or too afraid or just too apathetic to the cause.

George Washington was chosen, amongst bickering and dissent, to be the Commander-in-Chief of the Colonies forces—a collection of rag-tied, farmers and merchants carrying squirrel muskets and tomahawks, going up against the best equipped, battle-hardened soldiers in the world, solidly entrenched in well positioned and defended forts and harbors. Greatly outnumbered, and his ‘army’ lacking discipline, organization, logistics and equipment, those who didn’t undermine him, thought him a fool even to attempt to command such a rabble. Under any wisps of wisdom and or thoughts of knowledge, the revolution should have failed miserably.

But, George Washington was a godly man, believing in the power and providence of God.  The images of the general kneeling in the snow-covered woods of Valley Forge to pray were real. He believed in Divine intervention and in Divine providence, and his men often found him on his knees, praying. He believed God would lead them to victory, and he relied upon the Almighty and on his strong belief in Divine Guidance.

From such a foundation, he led his army, overcoming shortages of supplies, men, and weapons. Outmanned, out maneuvered, out gunned; lacking experienced fighting men and leaders; fighting internal politics and traitors; he forged an army of dedicated, competent freedom-fighters and made those around him believe they could win. He made no apologies for his army—his strategies—or his reliance on prayer and the Almighty.

And he would not fail.

After enduring many setbacks and reversals, he led this army of farmers and merchants to victory, defeating the strongest military power in the world—and thereby establishing the roots and beginnings of a new nation that was to become the greatest nation the world had ever seen.

Now, in 1789, after months of work, debate and argument, a constitution had been written and a president had been unanimously elected as the leader of the emerging nation.

The people gathered now, on this cool April day, to witness their dream be born.

A tall, distinguished-looking, solemn man walked onto the second floor balcony. He wore a modest, broadcloth suit with tails, high silk stockings; silver shoe buckles and carried a ceremonial sword girded about him. Placing his hand on the open Bible from St. John’s Masonic Lodge #1, he gave his oath to “…preserve and protect…” the new nation and amid thunderous applause, booming gun salvos and ringing church bells—George Washington became the first President of the United States of America.

Following the oath, the new President bent his 6’3” frame, kissed the Bible, waved to the crowds and went down to the first floor of the Senate Chambers, to deliver his inaugural address.  Observers noted that he fidgeted, was uneasy, and looked as though he would prefer to be back in Valley Forge in the winter of ‘77 rather than making this address. Senator William Maclay of Pennsylvania observed that the new president trembled when he faced the assembled representatives and senators. “This great man was agitated and embarrassed,” Maclay added, “more than ever he was by the leveled Cannon or pointed Musket.”

Of course, the President’s inauguration took place in the nation’s capital.

Fast forward to September 11, 2001.

Yes, to that fateful day in America’s history when America was attacked and our ‘wall’ was breached. Everyone knows what happened, and the pictures of the World Trade Towers collapsing and of a commercial jetliner imploding into the Pentagon are forever burned in our consciousness and memories. We know the story of Flight 93, headed on a mission of death to slam the Capital Building or the White House, only to be permanently detoured off course by those having the courage and bravery consistent with that of the founding fathers.

On that terrible September morning, a small church in New York City, St. Paul’s Chapel stood in the very shadow of the World Trade Center towers. When the towers collapsed, with those massive waves of devastation, spewing thousands of tons of steel, cement and stone, transformed into shrapnel, they destroyed everything, large and small, new and old, strong and robust, within blocks of Manhattan—and the small church was doomed and would certainly be demolished.

After long minutes, as the debris began to settle and the smoke from the ruins swirled upwards into the heavens like unholy incense, from out of the haze and thick clouds of dust—a steeple materialized. St Paul’s Chapel, covered in layers of ash, paper, stone and debris, stood undamaged—the only building so.

People were in disbelief. Some called it a miracle; some called it a coincidence; no one could explain it.  It was a complete impossibility for the 235 year old, stone church to have survived—without so much as a crack, a fallen stone or a shingle from off its roof. Some theorized the Sycamore tree in the line of fire, intercepted an ‘I-beam’ aimed directly at the small chapel, and was uprooted to fall and cover the chapel, deflecting the falling debris around it. A tree? A coincidence? A miracle?

Built, in 1766, on a field outside of the city proper, the Georgian-Revival style building was a satellite of St. Trinity’s church, located inside the city. It was built to provide a place of worship for persons living some distance away from the main parish church.

That field is Ground Zero and despite standing directly across from the World Trade Center site, the little stone chapel, not only survived the attacks, but was undamaged!

It became a rallying place of refuge and hope for the people. It provided a staging area for the rescue workers, giving comfort, rest and relief to the hundreds of volunteers, firefighters, police, and recovery workers. Volunteers manned the chapel, providing clothing, food and rest for the workers long shifts, mending torn hands and feet as the search continued searching and clearing the massive rubble for survivors and victims. It became a temporary headquarters and served up spiritual as well as physical comfort. A podiatry station was established, with medical personnel and volunteers offering massages and care of bloody and bruised feet. The pews were filled with exhausted workers sprawled everywhere, needing sleep and rest. It offered support and love to a shattered city, during its worst nightmare. Many called out to the Almighty there, seeking answers to their many questions and comfort to their fears and anguish.

Above the altar, the Hebrew Tetragrammatons’ is engraved:  “YHWH”—Jehovah.

The outside of the chapel became a magnet for survivors and family members, as they attached hundreds and hundreds of photos of missing persons and messages of love and hope on the fence of the church. Numerous funerals, for the fallen, were held in the church, and people sought solace and understanding in their grief. The little stone chapel stood as a beacon of hope and faith—in the midst of chaos and catastrophe and today it stills stands as a memorial to that infamous day of awakening in America.

But, is that all to the story? A miracle or coincidence of a small stone chapel surviving the breaching of America’s ‘wall’?

On April 30, 1789, George Washington, the founding father of America, was sworn in as the first president of the United States, in the capital city of the new nation.

In Washington, DC?

No, this was 1789, and there wasn’t any Washington, DC yet.

The Nation’s first chief executive took his oath of office on the balcony of the Senate Chamber inside of Federal Hall on Wall Street, in New York City.

He then gave his inaugural address before a joint session of the 1st United States Congress assembled on the 1^st floor of the Senate Chamber.

After concluding his remarks, a day of prayer for the new nation was declared, and the President, along with the Vice President, the 1^st Congressional Representatives and members and local political leaders, walked through the cheering crowds, lining Broadway Street, to a small chapel, where they prayed and thanked the Almighty for delivering and establishing their new nation. There, the first act of the new government was to pray for the future of America.

The ground is consecrated ground and the small stone chapel was—St. Paul’s Chapel.

Yes, the same St. Paul’s Chapel that withstood the onslaught of attack and was a beacon of hope to America. The very same ground that was consecrated at the founding of our nation—where the founding fathers prayed for Devine guidance and blessings—where George Washington knelt in prayer and supplication to the Almighty for the future of America—is the same ground that was attacked when the ‘walls’ were breached, 212 years later.

And the consecrated ground was spared.

A fluke? A coincidence? A miracle?

Or something more—a warning?  From the Almighty to a sleeping America?

During the brief time that New York served as the nation’s capital, George Washington continued to worship there, attending services until the capital was moved to Philadelphia in 1790. Over the next 170 years, numerous presidents and leaders of America visited St. Paul’s and added their prayers to the litany of America’s blessings.

We have enjoyed the many blessings and great bounty of this land—but have we lost sight of our founding fathers faith? Is there a much deeper message in the little stone chapel that we’re failing to see and receive?

I can’t answer; I’m only a mere inconsequential man sitting at a keyboard, but let our Founding Father, President George Washington, answer—from Ground Zero—212 years before it became Ground Zero:

“…it would be peculiarly improper to omit in this first official act my fervent supplications to that Almighty Being who rules over the universe…that His benediction may consecrate the liberties and happiness of the people of the United States… “

“…No people can be bound to acknowledge and adore the Invisible Hand which conducts the affairs of men more than those of the United States. Every step by which they have advanced to the character of an independent nation seems to have been distinguished by some token of providential agency…”

“…You will join with me… to be no less persuaded that the propitious smiles of Heaven can never be expected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right which Heaven itself has ordained… “

– President George Washington

First Inaugural Address—April 30, 1789

You be the judge.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

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The Niagara River – a Wonder of Creation

Is there anyone in the world – who hasn’t heard of Niagara Falls?

Well – I’m sure there is, in the deepest jungles of Africa and Brazil, and on the remote steppes of Mongolia and the grassy plains of the Yellow River – and on various desert islands across the oceans – there can be found lonely people wandering about who have never heard of Niagara Falls.

But, everyone else walking on the face of the planet, has heard that somewhere, within North America, there exists a magnificent waterfall, called Niagara.  In fact, millions upon millions have seen it, standing in awe at its immense power and majesty.

No – they’re not the tallest or even the most beautiful waterfalls in the world, (actually, there are about 500 waterfalls in the world that are taller than Niagara (Angel Falls in Venezuela is the tallest, at 3,212 feet), but most have little water flowing over them)…

Iguazu Falls – Brazil

…but they are the most known and visited. The combination of height and volume separates Niagara from all the others and makes them the spectacular wonder that they are.

Over 28 million people visit Niagara’s waterfalls each year. Since 1825, the world’s leading statesmen, monarchs, authors, painters, scientists, politicians, celebrities, business leaders and people from all walks, colors and languages have journeyed to stand in awe of the majestic falls and hear them roar their song of glory.

The Niagara River and Niagara Falls have been known outside of North America since the late 17th century, when Father Louis Hennepin, a French priest, at the request of King Louis XIV, accompanied the explorer La Salle, and first witnessed them in 1679. He wrote about his travels in ‘A New Discovery’ of a Vast Country in America (1688). While his painting of the Falls contained some exaggerations and distortions, it was widely circulated in Europe and became the icon of the “new world”.

But, what are the Falls and from where do they draw their strength?

Let’s take a journey down the Niagara River.

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‘Journeys Across Niagara’

When a faded picture from a by-gone era sets in motion a perilous quest…

…five young men not only encounter harrowing danger in the forbidden Niagara Gorge, but must confront the swirling illusions of the world they knew – changing their lives forever.

The day we decided to go down into the gorge of Niagara Falls—to walk on the ice bridge—had started out normal enough but quickly showed itself as anything but normal …

Living in the City of Niagara Falls in the early 1960s, winters were simple for teenagers – like snowball fights and warm-ups at “Ol’ Gordy’s” general store, and arguing over his “wall of pictures.” It’s a ritual—sipping Cokes while studying the old photographs … listening to Ol’ Gordy’s tales..and dreaming about the daredevils of old.

Then, on a frigid February morning, all that changed. An ice ball to Kevin’s face, and a funny looking picture, snatched from Ol’ Gordy’s wall, sets in motion a journey from which they will never recover. Despite Ol’ Gordy’s warnings (or perhaps because of them) that, not only is it extremely dangerous, but against the law, they secretly vow to venture forth and walk on – the ice-bridge of Niagara Falls.

The ice-bridge of Niagara Falls – an aberration of nature—steeped in history – fraught with tragedy – challenged through the ages, by daredevils, bootleggers and tourists alike – lures them from the world they know into the depths of the mysterious Niagara Gorge. As in a time machine, they enter an exhilarating bygone world of impassable rapids, massive frozen sculptors and unassailable walls of ice.

Coming face-to-face with the mighty Falls itself, from the bottom looking up, as it proclaims its dominion over them, they find themselves in a struggle of life and death with a Niagara they never knew existed.

Peeling back time, along the way we encounter others, who had made their own journeys across Niagara in eras gone by. We’re there when the ‘Hermit of Niagara’, living on top of the mighty Falls itself, finds his destiny in becoming one with the water. Years later, we stand in awe on the day Niagara stood still and explore a riverbed never before walked on by man – until the water returns – sealing the mystery of the flute.

We follow the journey of the feather, and witness slavery through the eyes of a runaway slave girl, as she rides the ‘Underground Railroad’ - seeking to find the bridge to freedom and paying the fare to ride that train.

We march to the beat of the drum and the chant of the the tom-tom, as nations clash and cultures collide when the journey of a British drummer boy converges with that of a young Iroquois brave at the brutal and bloody “Devil’s Hole” massacre.

‘Journeys across Niagara’ (previously titled: ‘Bridges -a Tale of Niagara’ and recipiant of the Readers Favorite 2011 Silver medal for General Fiction YA), is much more than a simple tale of camaraderie and adventure shared by young men. It a  tale that is rich in both historical fact and fiction, weaving a series of unique historical events, in a twist of mystery and revelation, with a group of 1962 teens, caught up in the complexities of a changing world around them. While each struggles with his own inner demons and angels – together they face the demons and angels of the Niagara Gorge.

It is my hope that you enjoy the journeys, and that you hear the crack of the ice, while feeling the tremor beneath your feet travel up your loins, knowing the mighty Niagara is reaching to claim you as well. ‘Journeys’ is a kaleidoscope of adventure and history, exploring the questions confronting people of all ages and from all times.

The earth is forever, and we’re just visitors—and only for a short time at that. By the time we begin to understand enough about the world to ask the right questions, our visit is over, and someone else is asking the same questions.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

DK Levick

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Silver Metal Award !!

Hello Friends -

Buried among the hundred plus emails I received yesterday was one that brightened up the room, made this old wrinkled face break into a huge smile and , how do they say it it? – Made my day.

It was an email from Reader’s Favorites, the international book review organization and they were announcing the 2011 award winners.

It’s with a great deal of pleasure, happiness and humility that I can tell you that “Bridges – a Tale of Niagara” has won the Silver Metal for Young Adult General Fiction!

YOUNG ADULT GENERAL FICTION

To share this celebration with you, use this code “Bridgesone” and buy the book on Amazon at a reduced cost.

I want to thank everyone who has help to support ‘Bridges’ and especially all those who have written reviews on Amazon and Goodreads – they are greatly appreciated.

I’ve been working hard on a couple of projects. Will have a new short story “The Man in the Painting” coming out next week on Amazon and Smashwords and another is in the mill.

Mostly, I’ve been working on a new novel that I plan on releasing the first part of by November. Will be something different.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

dk Levick

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Nothing like The Feel of a book in Your Head

Hello all -

I trust everyone is well and working diligently on reading good things and writing better things.

That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. In the midst of a lot of turmoil in my life right now, I’ve started a new project and it’s taking me and my writing into some new territory. The research on the subject has been extensive and seems to spread faster and further than a summer thunderstorm. But it’s been exciting and I like the thunder and lightning.

The project started out as a joke (you’re already in on it, you just don’t know it yet) and is growing into a novel – a big novel. I plan on releasing it in parts on a serial basis.

As a result of the research, I’ve been buying quite a pile of books and gaining an impressive library on the subject. Some are e-books and some are book-books.

You know I love my Kindle and also my Kindle for PC, but when doing research they just don’t compare to working with the real McCoy. Being able to thumb through a book from cover to cover, searching for a phrase or picture and spreading books out all over the table or floor (whatever works) and jumping back and forth from one to the other with ease brings back warm memories of years in school and at study with my love affair for real, paper, marked up, musty smelling books, for it truly is a love affair. After using e-book media for a while, you tend to forget that part of it and you lose the ‘feel‘ of the book. I don’t mean the actual feel of paper in your hands, (if you miss that then wrap paper around your Kindle) but I mean the internal ‘feel’ of holding a book.  I know – it’s all mental, but then, isn’t everything? Trust me on this, hold a favorite book in your hands and the memories start to flood back in. You never forget them. You find yourself cradling it, stroking it and holding it with affection and at times your emotions for the memories inside cause you to smile and squeeze it tight. Pick up your Kindle and it’s not there. I have to conjure up a ‘book‘ from the ‘library’ first and then what do I visualize?   (I’m afraid to squeeze my Kindle anyway – don’t know what pressing all those buttons would do and who knows what I’ll be reading in the next instant – if anything.)

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A Gift for you

Hello All -

Been tied up this past week with a lot of things that have taken up all my time – and energy. Sometimes life takes us along on a ride and there’s not much we can do except fight to stay upright and ride it through.  We’re doing just that.

But – I did get to publish a story on Amazon and Smashwords!

And I’m giving it to you as a gift from me. Go to Smashwords and search for “Potatoes  dk levick”.  Use code # RL64M to buy it free.  It’s a short story so it won’t take much of your time away and I think you’ll enjoy it. If you do – then let me know and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a review on Smashwords and Amazon too.

If you’re not familiar with Smashwords, then you should check it out and join (it costs nothing to join). You’ll find lots of good writing there. Once you get something you can download it in various forms. The one I like best is .mobi which is the Kindle format. If you don’t have a Kindle that’s not an issue. You can go to Amazon.com and click on “All Departments” and then search for “Kindle for PC” and you can download the Kindle software to run on your computer.

That will allow you to gain access to all the Kindle features to include buying books. Once you download from Smashwords you can run it on your computer Kindle. It’s actually better than the Kindle itself because you have full color for the cover and any pictures.

“Potatoes” is a story about an old man who goes back to the scene of an accident. Take a few moments of  your time and take a look at it, I wrote it for you.

Until Next Time:

Embrace Life’s Bridges – For they Define Who You Are

dk Levick

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Book Review: THE TRUST by Sean Keefer

Welcome back to the Thursday Post of  ’Writing in the Woods’

This week we’re going to take a breather from building the ‘ark’ or ‘walking the gorge’ and we’re going to do a book review. Oh, I know – book reviews can be dry and boring. Not this time! Not when it’s reviewing a fast paced, mystery that’ll keep you on the edge of your seat…’Trust‘ me.

The great thing about the paradigm that’s transforming the publishing industry is that new voices are rising and new talents are being heard. We’re going to look at the work of one of these new talents whom we’ll be hearing a lot more from as time goes by.

So, come along with me and lets look at:

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The Trust

by Sean Keefer.

Book Description

“To attorney Noah Parks, the probate of a will should be a simple task. But the Last Will and Testament of Leonardo Xavier Cross is anything but simple. Though Parks has never heard of Cross, he learns that the Will directs that he provide the legal representation for the estate and as part of his fee he receive the contents of a safety deposit box – a safety deposit box no one knew existed. Intrigued, Parks undertakes the task but after the body count begins to rise the otherwise basic task of probating the will becomes more complicated as each day passes. Despite all of Parks’ skills, the answers he seeks remain elusive and force him to delve deeper into the shocking and deceptive Cross’ family history which sets the stage for an explosive finale that Parks can only hope to survive.”

 

What’s the recipe for a good summer read?

Well – what could be better than a good, ‘ol southern legal thriller?

Start with a nice quiet law practice in colorful, historic Charleston, South Carolina. Now, populate it with all-around good-guy lawyer (yes there really is such a thing), Noah Parks. He’s not making a million, but then he’s not trying to neither. Life is good for Noah. He’s had his problems, true, but then who hasn’t?  Now, toss in his Aussie dog Austin and add a flirty legal assistant and you have the perfect quiescent setting just ripe for a bomb to drop in from out of the blue.

And author, Sean Keefer, unleashes a cluster-bomb in the form of a demanding, condescending, hotshot Chicago lawyer, an eccentric dead millionaire, a mysterious probate request, a group of dysfunctional heirs and the mystery of a safe deposit box - right square into Noah’s lap.

Mix it all up - pop it into the oven and you have the makings of a hot, page-turning, beach-chair, summer read.

Until the bodies start stacking up when you’ll need to hit the surf to cool off.

Here’s a preview:

Book Trailer for The Trust:

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Author Sean Keefer, making his début entry into the literary world, has produced an engaging, dynamic tale of intrigue, mystery and suspense.

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Noah’s ark – 2011

Hello everyone – welcome to the Thursday post of Writing in the Woods….

There’s been a lot of serious writing floating around the past few days. And for good reason too – with Borders closing and agents and publishers attacking John Locke’s book “How I sold a million books in Five Months” (sour grapes and fear is all that is, I’m waiting for his new book to come out “How I sold a million books about selling a million books”). Not to mention finding Rudolph Murdock in our breakfast cereal. Everyone seems to be in on edge a little. Isn’t it Great living in the information age? We’re in the midst of a writing revolution and the formula is changing – constantly. There are no sacred cows any longer.

But, let’s get off that for a bit and take a detour from all these weighty issues. Let’s lighten it up a little, if only for a few minutes.

Let’s go on a ‘mission from God’ – okay? Let’s build Noah’s Ark in 2011.

Follow me…

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Did you ever wonder why Noah built the ark?

You know the story, right?

God was a little upset with the folks down below and decided it was time for them to take a bath – a long permanent bath. But He didn’t want to throw away the baby with the bath water so he figured He’d start over and give it another go. So He found a good man hanging out down below and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

And that offer wasn’t as easy to accept as we might want to think. Keep in mind – there wasn’t any rain in those days. It’s true, it hadn’t been invented yet.

Read it for yourself in Genesis 2:5 & 6 “…for the Lord God had not sent rain on the earth….but a mist came up from the ground and watered the surface.”

Take a lot of mist to float that boat,  ya think?

Okay, no rain, so I guess that means floods hadn’t been invented yet neither. There were lakes and seas so they did take baths I suppose (I hope). But, it had to take a lot of faith for Noah to go ahead and build a giant boat on dry land because of rain and global flooding he’d never heard of before. But, when the Big Guy talks to you – what are you going to do?

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The Hill

Welcome Friends -

Sorry I missed last week. Was visiting family and dealing with the aftermath of a storm and then some business issues that came up.

This week’s post is written with a pondering heart while resting on ‘the hill’ and is a gift for each of you who ‘climb the hill’ and ponder.

I hope you enjoy….

The Hill

It is dark as I climb the hill,

so dark  I see no horizon. No moon. No stars. Only dark. I move slowly,  arms outstretched, feeling for trees to steer clear of, branches to grab and stones to avoid so as not to trip and stumble. I am sore, bruised and weary. What is this hill I climb? Why am I here? Why do I climb it? What sits at the top?  Why do I seek it?

I stop and sit -to rest and to ponder these things. Sitting thus, looking down into the blackness from where I have come, it looks no different than from where I am going – all is darkness.

Why am I climbing this hill?

Because it’s here.

But why am I here?

Because I’m alive.

I live – therefore I climb.

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