Monday, January 23, 2012

Foggy Monday

World War II, children, channel islands,
Today we woke up to a foggy morning. The temperatures outside are climbing steadily and the ice coating all the trees is melting. The air feels fresh and I am glad it's above freezing. Our house warms up so much easier and I don't have to worry about our kids driving on icy roads. The whole back yard is covered in a blanket of smooth white fog making everything look as though it's in a story land. Our Siberian husky, Tundra is here wondering why I am taking his picture. He actually loves this weather. I checked on him yesterday and he was out laying on his side sleeping on the icy-crusted snow as if it were a warm rug.
Today, I am ready to write. The house is quiet and my chores are done so my imagination can start to roll. Abandoned Unknowingly is the title about a young girl sent to safety during World War Two under the care of her older brother. I will activate the link later today.

Here is the excerpt I forgot to add earlier...Abandoned Unknowingly
This is my story of a short but monumental event in my life that changed me forever. It was not planned, as most catastrophic, frightening, achingly miserable events tend not to be. I was only five years old. Kindergarten was the extent of exposure to life outside of my home, and even that was limited to several months. After a few hours away from our
pleasant farmhouse and I wanted nothing more than to come home where I could kick off my stiff school shoes and don my worn-down leather shoes. Ten cantankerous sheep, five golden Guernsey cows and a couple of stubborn donkeys were my source of entertainment along with several dozen Freedom Ranger chickens my father raised for selling at the market for a few extra pounds when we needed them. He prided himself in growing the best tomatoes on the island, jabbering on in French about how he had the best soil and the angle of the sun was just perfect. We spoke French and English at home, and sometimes mixed them together, since school for me was only in English.

The trouble in town bothered my parents. We lived just half a mile inland from the busy St. Peter’s Port. Repeated visits from neighbors and numerous town meetings for my parents left my brother, Roger and I sole caretakers of the farm on many days. He was 12 years old but I thought of him almost as an adult. He was a bright chap and kept me on my toes with his clever whit. Trying to outsmart and outrace him was the sole purpose of the majority of my days. He loved Father with a passion and hated when I would catch him dressing up all proper with Father’s hat and jacket. He made me giggle. Mine was a family of love set in the atmosphere of the lovely island I called home, Guernsey. If you didn’t know, Guernsey is a tiny island, but the whole world to me, set in the English Channel about 30 miles off the coast of France. I knew I lived on an island, but it meant nothing to me as we had a proper town, schools, churches, stores and beaches, just like every other family’s community.
T