Writer on a Horse

Dear Luke,

I write to you on this fine day of April 11th, 1861.

I write to you while riding on my horse. I’m trying not to spill any coffee on the paper.

Managing the ranch is going well, and I’m able to keep the misses happy, for now.

I’ve been keeping an eye on your wife, Linda, as well. She seems to be doing ok, but she’s aweful lonely without you. As am I. I don’t have many male companions I can drink whiskey with. Mostly supporters of The Women's State Temperance Society live in these parts. They’re new here, and have made drinking a lot more difficult.

There was a woman who went to the saloon a few weeks ago and smashed up the bar. They called her Carrie Nation.

The owner rebuilt, so now the town can drink again. He even hired an officer to keep an eye out for any other saloon smashers.

Your mother has joined the movement, but only so she can make friends. She proves her disloyalty to them when she comes home to me bearing gifts of Old Crow or Glenlivet whiskey, and sometimes a whole pitcher of beer, which we ‘finish’ together.

I was genuinely surprised to learn your mother likes beer, until I tried her beer when she wasn’t looking. She switches it with sweet tea. She’s been doing this every time.

This is why I love your mother, though. She does what she must to keep me happy. I do the same for her. This is why I still pretend her drink is beer, even though I know the truth.

I hope you don’t mind, but I used up all your hot sauce. When you finish in the service, I’ll buy you a new bottle.

Our neighbors, Poppy and Jennifer say hello. They miss you too, but not as much as your mother and I.

I hope you finish your training soon and come back home. Rumors are spreading that a group in North Carolina is gunning to start a war. They might attack one of the forts down here in Charleston.

If this happens, they might deploy you to defend the fort.

If you’d like us to keep you safe, we would gladly oblige. You know where the basement is, find it and stay there. Your mother and I have discussed this, and we won’t say a word.

But if you choose to fight, we understand that too. We raised a strong boy, and now you’re a strong, brave man.

Your mother wears a locket with your picture in it every day. She’s also hung a new sketch of you in the kitchen.

Linda’s almost ready to give birth to your child. The midwife is staying with her for the day that comes.

I can’t wait for you to come home. I’ve bought several new sheep for the ranch, and your mother and I could sure use the help sheering them.

In the meantime, we’ve hired a new staff name Johnny to help us sheer the new sheep. Johnny is trouble though, he’s a bit of a napper. We’ve caught him sleeping on the job several times, and even after several buckets of ice water to the face, he sometimes still falls back asleep.

Please come home, son. You never had this problem.

Johnny has been a handful, but the extra help is needed with the new sheep. We've decided to give him one more chance to prove himself, but if he keeps dozing off on the job, we may have to let him go. Maybe I’ll beat him with a stick first. That might keep him up.

On a lighter note, your mother's garden is flourishing. The tomatoes are ripe and juicy, the carrots are as big as my arm, and her prized sunflowers have grown taller than the barn. She plans to make her famous vegetable stew when you return, using the tasty and fresh ingredients from her garden. You know how delicious it is. If your cousin Joe doesn’t come by and steal it all, and it stays fresh, I’ll save some for you.

In other news, Poppy has taken up the fiddle, much to the dismay of Jennifer. He's been practicing every evening after dinner, and while his enthusiasm is admirable, I fear his talent has yet to catch up. Still, it's good to have some music on the ranch, even if it is a little rough around the edges.

Your mother and I attended the county fair last week, and I must say, it was quite a spectacle. There were livestock shows, and we dressed our sheep as people! People, Luke!

There were also quilting demonstrations, and even a pie-eating contest. Your mother entered her famous cinnamon apple pie, and although she didn't take home the blue ribbon, she came close with an honorable mention.

The judge had given her the mention as a way to flirt with her, though, so after the show I gave him the gift of a black eye.

We also watched the annual greased pig-catching contest, and let me tell you, it was a sight to see. Grown men slipping and sliding in the mud, desperately trying to catch a squirming, greased up pig. I don't think I've laughed that hard in years!

Your mother also participated in the preserves competition, entering her homemade strawberry jam. While she didn't win, she did receive a special mention from the judges for her creative use of spices. I’m glad the judges for this competition were female. I did not have to bruise my knuckles any further.

I must admit, I can't wait for you to come home and experience all of this with us. The ranch is full of life, and your presence is greatly missed. But until then, know that we are proud of your service and wish you a safe and speedy return.

I'll keep you posted on any news from Charleston, and I hope you'll write back soon with updates on your training and well-being. In the meantime, know that your family is thinking of you always and awaiting your safe return.

Your mother sends her love, and I join her in wishing you all the best. Stay strong, brave, and true to yourself, my son.

With much love and affection,

Your Father

P.S. The dogs are doing well and send their love, too. And please, try not to worry too much about the rumors of war. We'll handle whatever comes our way, as we always have.

*******

April 12, 1861: Confederate forces fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, marking the official start of the war.