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ccohanlon · 2 years

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my favourite things

sam shepard’s ‘motel chronicles’, glenn gould playing j.s. bach, books, gaff-rigged bristol pilot cutters, nautical charts, the idea of lamu island and zanzibar, ilford 35mm black & white film, expressions of love in spanish, the meaning of saudade, miles davis, john coltrane, conga drums and bongoes, the backstreets of marrakesh, naples and havana, my 20-year-old leather backpack, my leather-bound pocket atlas (a gift from a woman who worked for me), my maori bone hei matau, british ordnance survey maps, african and latina women, dark skin, long legs and firm round asses,‘oil notes’ by rick bass, joseph conrad’s ‘heart of darkness’, ‘the fly trap’ by fredrik sjöberg, bill drummond doing what he calls ‘art’ and his writings about it, malcolm mclaren talking about almost anything, german-made fountain pens, noodler’s inks, 20th century french novelists, analog moog synthesisers, joan didion’s early essays (especially ‘the white album’), the rolling stones’ original versions of ‘gimme shelter’ and ’sympathy for the devil’, ali farka touré’s modal riffs, the western isles and northwest coast of scotland in spring, the b&w photographs robert frank took in the ’50s as he drove across america, richard misrach’s ‘desert cantos’, wim wender’s ‘paris, texas’ and ‘wings of desire’ (i like his diaristic photo book, ‘once’, too), jim jarmusch’s ‘only lovers left alive’, indian ocean sailing dhows, old boat compasses, my vintage flying boat sextant, the cheap but accurate swiss wind-up watch my mother gave me when i first went to sea, that first glimpse of the mojave desert driving east from l.a. on interstate 40, and of morocco’s atlas mountains, at dawn, sailing through the straits of gibraltar from the west, the mediterranean sea, van morrison’s voice, and aretha franklin’s and julie driscoll’s, the ideas of john cage and of jean-luc godard, cornelius cardew’s ‘scratch music’, gorodish and alba in delacorta’s series of novels, ‘haunts of the black masseur’ by charles sprawson, peter beard’s collaged diaries, steve dilworth’s visceral sculpture, the smooth stones i’ve collected from beaches on three oceans, garlic, wasabi, peking duck in pancakes, ice-cold champagne (bollinger, when I can afford it, or louis roederer cristal), baden powell’s guitar-playing, samba, salvador de bahia, standing at the edge of an empty sahara, sailing a felucca up the nile, the writings of william burroughs, barry gifford and charlie smith, the history of zero, the smell of bangkok by the river at dawn, summer nights in tokyo, long periods of silence, hugging my children, playing my solid mahogany tenor ukulele (a 61st birthday gift from my wife), my fender telecaster and gibson lucille guitars, shona sculpture, an etching i have by armodio (‘l’urlatrice’), the songs of tom waits, alan ginsberg’s photos of beat writers – burroughs and paul bowles, especially – in new york and tangier, jack kerouac’s writings (even though i’ve outgrown them), ‘the outsider’ by colin wilson, bowles’ ‘the sheltering sky’, playing blackjack at caesars’, las vegas, in the early hours of a week-day morning, café tacuba’s huevos con molé in mexico city, the garden derek jarman made at prospect cottage in dungeness, jarman’s diaries, da vinci’s notebooks, don mccullin’s photographs and mary ellen mark’s when she was younger (the ones in goa), dancing alone to 60s’ soul music, the scent of frangipani, the white noise of heavy monsoonal rain, my long, old-school powell skateboard with big urethane wheels, early silver surfer comic books, 70s’ ‘avant-garde’ music scores from peters and universal edition, my all-mechanical olympus 35 sp camera and my rolleiflex tlr, cecil taylor on piano, dave holland on bass, ginger baker on drums, the movie version of joseph conrad’s ‘lord jim’, cary grant in ‘father goose’, david lean’s ‘lawrence of arabia’, donald cammell’s ‘perfomance’, snowdonia in mid-wales, taos in new mexico (and the sangre de cristo mountains), sailing close by stromboli on a calm, moonlit night, the smooth skin and skinny bodies of young japanese women, everything about italian women, palm trees, passionfruit, seedless grapes, mandarins, uncooked cherry tomatoes, the oakland raiders (even when they’re losing), swimming alone in a warm pool, the bath tubs at the ritz-carlton in singapore in the 90s, afternoon tea (pg tips) with scones, thick cream and damson jam (preferably tiptree’s), albert ayler on sax, derek bailey’s free-form solos on guitar, ‘colour: a natural history of the palette’ by victoria finlay, tom mccarthy’s ‘satin island’, william gibson’s science fiction, sylvie guillem dancing, van cliburn playing brahms’ second piano concerto, keith richards’ and john lee hooker’s grungy guitar licks, j.j. cale’s muted finger picking, the long solo voyages of bernard moitessier under sail and the writings that came from them, the voyages of david lewis and of bill tilman (aboard ‘mischief’), old tahiti ketches designed by john hanna, thomas colvin’s modern steel sailing junks, target shooting with a high-calibre handgun (like a colt python .357 magnum), watching dark frontal clouds gather ahead of a storm, the grim stillness of tornado weather in northern oklahoma, big hotel rooms, late night room service, landing in los angeles from the west late at night, yakitori at a basement place i know in hiroshima, the gharana of the tabla, welsh male voice choirs, playing scrabble, the lives of sir richard francis burton and t.e. lawrence, thom gunn’s poems, also e.e cummings’ and mira gonzalez’s, gore vidal on american politics, sex and other writers, the stone hanko engraved for me using an old form of katakana in hiroshima, hand-tooled knives, walking through rome early in the morning, rooftop terraces in trastevere, out-of-the-way trattorie in monti, vitello parmigiano, tortellini, stracciatella, and sambuca, the amalfi coast, iain sinclair writing about his walks around london, living in los angeles (when i have money), driving north from santa monica on the pacific coast highway, big sur 30 years ago,’60s american muscle cars, joyce singing ‘agua de março’ or astrud gilberto, or the version marisa monte and david byrne did for ‘red, hot and rio’, ‘sitting’ by cat stevens. ‘dumb things’ by paul kelly, the emotions singing ‘best of my love’, the idea of the congo and the mekong and of rusty tramp steamers sailing to up-river jungle ports, berlin in autumn just before the leaves fall, all the works of anselm kiefer and cy twombly, francesco clemente’s exotic watercolours, ‘the pugilist’ sculpted in iron by robert brennan, marilyn manson’s ‘we’re killing strangers’, smokey robinson’s ’tracks of my tears’, the first whiff of salt air and coconut oil at an australian surf beach, longboarding on a glassy point break at wategos in byron bay, the mexican movie ‘y tu mama tambien’, almodovar’s ‘todo sobre mi madre’ and ‘matador’, cluttered but stylish old parisian apartments, any clapboard boatshed and jetty on a quiet bay or river bank, a stone cottage above a rocky north atlantic shore (in nova scotia, maybe, or shetland), solitude.

First published in Sick Lit magazine, USA, 2015.

#favouritethings #list #memories #memoir #poetry #diary

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petermorwood · 4 years

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"...Mrs. Beaver brought unexpectedly out of the oven a great and gloriously sticky marmalade roll, steaming hot."

(The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, (c) C.S. Lewis 1950.

It may not be always winter and never Christmas (though in 2020 no unhatched chickens are being counted just yet) but when the weather turned mean as the week wound down, @dduane‘s mind turned to this.

Twitter thread here, original recipe here, and “gloriously sticky” is an accurate description.

"The Chronicles of Narnia", both books and films, have made this dish quite well known, but a look at what Google provides for the search term tells me that very few of the fan-created sites are making it properly. DD suggests it's because so many of them are American and either don't know about or possibly can't get a principal ingredient. I saw one which included butter frozen then grated, which is a passable substitute...

But only if you can’t get proper suet.

This is the sort of pudding called a "roly-poly" – it turns up in nursery songs and rhymes like the "roly-poly, gammon and spinach" chorus of "A Frog He Would a-Wooing Go" (which also includes mention of one Anthony ( C)rowley, make of that what you will).

Here’s a jam roly-poly from the National Trust.

Roly-polys and the rest are suet pastry spread with jam, marmalade or breadcrumbs-and-syrup, rolled up like Swiss rolls, wrapped in floured cloth, foil or parchment then baked or steamed; IMO steamed are lighter and fluffier, baked are browner and more visually appealing. They’re then served with cream, custard like the jam one - or in my photo, yogurt, whose sharp tang made an excellent contrast to the sweet tang of the Seville marmalade.

Roly-poly puddings weren't haute cuisine, their filling stodge comes from a time when homes had no central heating and people had to run on internal calories much more than now. Just as often, puddings could make a good meal when the larder was getting bare and meat, veg or fruit needed stretched.

Mary Norwak's book "English Puddings"...

...has several suet puddings, both sweet and savoury, and since "Atora" has made vegetable suet for a long while now, it's possible to make even some savoury ones as veggie meals, with onions, potatoes, cheese, herbs, root vegetables like carrots, parsnips and turnips, but no meat.

In fact some were meatless anyway - Suffolk Onion Pudding has only onions and herbs in it - and though Norwak’s book doesn't say so, I have a feeling that the beef suet in some of these traditional recipes may have been the only form of meat available.

Steamed or baked, suet puddings often had nicknames unlikely to ever appear on a high-class menu: "Dead Man's Leg" and "Drowned Baby" are unlikely to appeal to anyone past Second Form - except perhaps Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, which isn’t surprising from a service which calls a knife and fork “port and starboard scran spanners”...

Linguistic sidenote for American readers whose dessert puddings are very different: English “pudding” may have once been French “boudin”, a kind of sausage; the sausage casing became the cloth, paper or nowadays foil in which the suet pastry is wrapped, and the French word was - as usual - mispronounced by the Rosbifs.

Robert Burns called haggis, also a kind of sausage, “Great Chieftain of the Pudding race.” However this doesn’t mean you should put cream, custard or yogurt on it. Fusion cuisine can go too far. :-P

#food and drink #kitchen adventures #recipes #marmalade roll #suet pudding #the lion the witch and the wardrobe #cs lewis

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sparrowjaywrites · 5 years

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Survive We Shall (Chapter 01: What Tomorrow Brings)

Disclaimer: All recognizable Characters, places, and plots belong to those who own the copyright for Walking Dead and Criminal Minds respectfully such as AMC and Robert Kirkman, I do not know all their names.

All new characters such as Kat, The Takers, and Kat’s original group belong to me. Please do not use them or my storyline without my permission.

Warnings:

This story will contain foul language, nudity, sexual content, graphic violence, mentions of sexual assault, death, abuse, mentions of domestic abuse, partial depictions of sexual assault, depictions of domestic abuse, torture, suicide, depictions of suicidal thoughts, self-harm, PTSD, flash backs and much more.

Each Chapter will have its own trigger warnings directly below this warning at the start please use these to protect yourself while you read. If there are any issues regarding this please PM me.

Standing Warnings for All Chapters: (These Warnings are used so frequently it is pointless to add them by specific chapter.

Gore, Graphic Violence, Death, Swearing

Chapter Warnings:

-See Standing Warnings Above-

AN:

I started working on this story not long after season nine of Walking Dead started airing in October 2018. This story is technically a crossover between Walking Dead and Criminal Minds but the Criminal Minds characters do not actually come in besides a phone call in this chapter and mentions for at least the first 50 + chapters.

This story is pre-written through chapter 7 and I will be posting two chapters a week for the time being. The story is structured into chapters with specific themes and story beats. Every chapter will start and end with a quote like an episode of Criminal Minds does.

This story is also posted on my Fanfiction.net account: Creative Heart 1997, and on my A03 account: Kat_Jay_Sparrow

With that all out of the way, enjoy the show!

Survive We Shall

Season One

Episode 01: What Tomorrow Brings

---Line Break---

“And that’s the thing. The day before your whole life changes, forever, it feels just like any other day.” – Unknown

Kat hummed as she walked around her kitchen making her dinner, roast beef, potatoes, onions, and gravy. Not the healthiest meal, but one of her favorites. For desert a slice of cheesecake. She’d spent the day watching shows on Netflix while working on her next book; the fourth and final instalment of the Silver Star Chronicles.

‘How’s the book coming?’ Kat glances at her phone reading the text from her older brother.

‘Good, how’s the case?’

‘Finished, we’re headed back to DC now. I can’t wait to sleep.’ Kat snorts at the sleeping emoji her brother adds to the end of the text. She’d recently convinced him to get a smart phone and he’d been attempting to use them whenever possible ever since.

‘Sleep well, Spence.’ She sends him a heart emoji and gets back to her food. Spencer lived in DC and worked for the FBI as a criminal profiler, a member of the Behavioral Analysis Unit or BAU. He’d been working there for over thirteen years now, over half of Kat’s life. She finishes her dinner settling in to finish bingeing Merlin again.

Around six in the morning the ringing of her phone woke her. Kat blinks and rolls over with a groan ignoring the phone for a moment before sighing and picking it up.

“Hello?”

“Kat? Something’s happening, something bad. I need you to get to DC, as soon as you can. Pack what you want; you may not be home for a very long time. Please catch the next flight out!” Spencer’s terrified voice begs. Kat sits up in her bed putting her glasses on and glancing at her clock.

“Spencer what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain when you get here, just… get here.”

“Okay, I’ll catch the next flight.” Kat agrees the fear in her brother’s voice scaring her. Spencer Reid did not scare easily, over a decade in the job he had made sure of that. So for him to sound so terrified was a bad sign.

“Call me when you land, one of the team will pick you up. Oh, bring your gun. I love you, Katrina.”

“I love your too, Spencer, see you in a few hours.” Kat hangs up the phone pausing to take a breath looking around her room. She takes a breath and stands rushing to pack. She grabs a duffle bag stuffing her gun and her ammo in it, she pauses before grabbing her bow locking it in its case and stuffing it and her arrows in her duffle bag as well. If she needed her gun it may come in handy, who knows, plus if she wasn’t coming back she’d want it with her. Rossi would let her practice on his property like when she was a teenager she was sure. She adds her pocket knife and Swiss army knives to the bag before dropping it by the top of the stairs.

Next was her star trek messenger bag, her laptop, IPod, Nintendo Switch, IPad, and kindle went in there along with the cords, her spare headphones, and her phone cord. She added her sketch books, pencils, and notebooks. Her backpack was next, her favorite pictures being pulled from the walls and taken from their frames to be placed in a Ziploc baggy inside along with her favorite photo album, a Ziploc full of jewelry from her mom or members of Spencer’s team growing up, a small black stuffed cat Spencer had given her for her fifth birthday named Midnight, her high school diploma and Bachelor’s degree in creative writing, and finally the first printed copies of each of her books, seven in total.

Last was her suit case where she tossed a few pairs of shoes, all her clean socks, underwear, and bras. A few jackets, a few pairs of jeans, shorts, t-shirts, long sleeved shirts, and tank tops. She tossed in her Harry Potter, Twilight, and Edgar Allen Poe books. Lastly she added her first aid kit, and her fifteen pairs of glasses. Kat had taken to owning a lot of different styles of glasses to go with her different outfits, something she’d picked up from Penelope a women who worked with her brother who’d been like an older sister to her since she’d met her.

Kat pulls out her phone booking the next flight leaving for DC, frowning when the only one available before noon had a layover in Texas. She shakes her head booking the first class ticket and calling a cab. The last thing she wanted to do was leave her truck in airport parking if she didn’t know how long she’d be gone. It being the middle of the week SeaTac was surprisingly more busy than normal; the place was packed with people. Kat quickly got her boarding pass moving to check her bags, having flown with her gun enough times to know the drill.

Kat got in line. After almost twenty minutes the woman checking bags took a call then shut down her station. Kat watched in confusion as all the terminal’s shut down. People began whispering around her.

“Attention the state of Washington has just entered a state of emergency. Bags are no longer being checked, if we call your flight number please move to the front and you will be taken to your plane to board; please take your luggage with you. Security measures are being lifted. Thank you.”

“What the fuck?” Kat mutters as people around her begin to panic.

“Flight 354 to New York.” Kat watches as people join a worried looking flight attendant who leads them away a few minutes later. “Flight 356 to DC with layover in Houston?” Kat glances at her boarding pass then approaches the flight attendant who glances at her pass before nodding.

“Uh, I have a gun and permit to carry. I normally check it, what do I do now?” Kat asks her before they head out.

“It doesn’t matter, keep it on you. We’ve been told to just get everyone on the plane and out. The military showed up twenty minutes ago giving orders, apparently the whole country is under martial law.” The woman says as she begins leading Kat and around twenty others to their boarding gate. Kat shares a worried look with those around her. Before long they are all standing outside the gate, two soldiers stand by the doors asking people questions as they board, something about bites?

“Ma’am has anyone attacked and or bitten or scratched you in the past twenty four hours?” Kat raises an eyebrow.

“No… What’s going on?”

“Please board the plane, Ma’am.” The soldier won’t look her in the eye, though she catches a look of fear before he looks away. Kat sighs but boards taking her seat. She puts her suitcase on the floor in front of the seat beside hers; knowing it won’t fit in the overhead or it was unlikely too and it certainly wouldn’t fit under the seat. She puts her messenger bag, backpack, and duffle bag on the seat with her purse on top. Kat leans her head into the aisle counting around thirty people seated in the normal section; two other people were seated in first class with her so far. Ten more people board before the doors are closed. Their where only around forty passengers it seemed, on a jet that would normally fit at least a hundred and fifty, probably more.

“Attention passengers this is your captain speaking, please take your seats and prepare for takeoff, safety procedures will be explained once we are at cruising altitude, thank you.” Kat buckles her belt shooting a quick text to Spencer as they taxi onto the runway.

‘On plane, something is up, bags where not checked, they had me board with my luggage over an hour before the flight was to take off. They had me board without checking my gun even after I told them about it! They said something about martial law and a state of emergency. What is going on? We’re taking off without safety warnings, there where soldiers asking us if we’d been bitten or scratched as we boarded. I’ll text you once I have Wi-Fi and can.’

Kat sits back in her seat staring out the window as they reach the runway; she leans over her bags to watch out the window as they take off. As they climb her view of the city widens, her stomach drops as she sees pillars of smoke rising from downtown, and what appear to be military helicopters flying that way. What the fuck was happening? Where they under attack?

“Attention passengers this is your captain speaking, we have now reached cruising altitude, we should be reaching Houston in approximately four hours. Flight attendants will be by with drinks after they finish their safety instructions. Thank you for flying Alaska.” Kat shakes her head, why wasn’t anyone telling them anything?

Three hours later a high pitched scream in the back of the plane dragged her attention away from her book. Kat spins around in her seat looking down her aisle along with most of the planes passengers, near the back of the plane two people had jumped up and pulled a woman from her seat. Kat unbuckles sprinting down the aisle to see a woman with what appeared to be a large bite out of the side of her shoulder. A deep guttural growling could be heard from her seat now that she was no longer screaming.

Suddenly the woman tore herself from the men and dived back into the seat a moment later she was sitting on the floor of the aisle holding a small child in her arms as he struggled. The boy was clawing at his mother and clearly attempting to bite her again, it took Kat a moment to realize the inhuman growling was coming from the boy. One of the men leaned down to tried to pull the boy back; the boy turned his head to look at the man, Kat catching the blood smeared around the boy’s mouth even from where she was.

“What the fuck!” The man attempts to jump back as the boy suddenly latches onto his arm and bites down viciously, tearing a chunk of skin and muscle from his arm, chewing then swallowing. Kat stumbles back in horror as people quickly back away from the boy and the now screaming man. The woman is trying to yell over the man, she pulls the boy back into her arms, trying to restrain him.

A few seconds later the mother is dragged back from the child from behind by another passenger. As soon as she losses her grip the boy is up and stumbling down the aisle towards a woman who was leaning around the edge of her seat to look. She moves to pull back just as the boy reaches her sinking his teeth into her neck, her garbled scream joining the other horrified screams and yelling throughout the plane.

The screams all cut off as if muted when the deafening crack of gunshot has all eyes moving from the boy to a man standing behind the mother in the aisle. Kat’s eyes flicker back to the boy… or more correctly the body of the boy lying only around fifteen feet in front of her. The woman he’d attacked was hanging out of her seat motionless, blood dripping onto the boy’s corpse.

“NO! No, not my baby, no!” The mother shrieks. The man holding her back lets her go stumbling into the middle row of seats. The man with the gun lowers it looking a bit ill.

“I’m Jacob Moore, air marshal.” He holds up his credentials, not that Kat could read them from where she was. “I’m sorry Ma’am but your boy was infected… I didn’t have a choice.”

“Infected?” A man standing in the other aisle of the plane asks looking confused.

“You… You killed my boy… my Bradley…” The mother shouts stumbling to her feet towards Moore.

“How many of you saw the news this morning?” Three hands go up. Moore sighs running a hand through his hair. “There’s some kind of virus going around, once infected people die… they die and then they come back… they come back from the dead and eat people… like zombies, but real.” He explains his face completely serious.

“Is that why the soldiers were asking us about bites?” A woman asks fearfully, a young toddler clutched in her arms.

“Yes.”

“You killed my boy!” The mother had approached Moore without anyone really noticing, or if they had they hadn’t said anything. She suddenly punches him dead in the face; snatching his gun from his belt she aims it at him as she backs herself into the row of seats behind her until her back hits the window.

“Ma’am he was already dead, please drop the gun.” Moore pleads from his spot on the ground slowly standing up his hands held in front of him as blood trickles down his face. The woman glares at him then presses the gun against the plane window. Kat freezes in place as her eyes widen.

“Your all with him, he killed my boy but your listening to him.” She mutters crazily. If she pulled that trigger the plane would depressurize and they would all die.

“Ma’am please, you’ll kill us all, yourself included.” Moore pleads his eyes wide. Kat backs down the aisle until she reaches her seat, she glances at her stuff her eyes landing on her duffle bag… she had good aim… maybe? Kat slides into her seat and slips her gun from her duffle bag quickly checking it was loaded before standing up and slowly moving down the aisle of the plane. The woman was muttering to herself now, her finger firmly on the trigger. Kat keeps the gun at her side as she gets closer. She stops a few feet from the kid’s body not willing to get too close.

Kat grabs a magazine from the seat beside her and waves it to get Moore’s attention he glances at her. She moves the gun so he can see it and nods to the woman. Moore stares at her for a moment then nods.

“If you don’t drop the gun we won’t have a choice but to hurt you Ma’am.” Kat takes a breath raising the gun as the woman turns to look at Moore as he talks. She flicks off the safety and lines up the shot.

“I’ll kill all of you! You killed my Bradley. Mommy’s coming baby.” She raises the gun to the window again. Kat pulls the trigger. The woman slumps to the ground, blood spraying the wall and seats behind her. Moore quickly moves forward retrieving his gun as people scream. Kat turns back on her safety lowering her gun as she stares at it… she just killed a woman.

“Thank you, Miss, what’s your name?” Moore approaches her slowly; he steps over the boy placing a hand over hers on her gun. Kat looks up at his face blinking the world seeming to disappear around her, her vision tunneling to focus only on him and the gun in her hand.

“Kat, er Katrina Reid.”

“You did well, Kat. Why don’t we sit down, alright?” Moore takes the gun from her hand and leads her back to her seat… how did he know which was her seat? “Kat you need to breathe slower, follow my breathes… Kat?” Moore said something more but she couldn’t make it out as the world spun around her suddenly going dark.

---Line Break---

Kat blinked, her eyes slowly adjusting to the light around her. Someone was patting her cheek; her eyes focus the memories of the last ten minutes coming back to her all at once. Moore smiles as she blinks up at him.

“Welcome back, do you know where you are?” Kat nods sitting up straighter and looking around. She can hear people crying and talking throughout the plane. The two other first class passengers are both standing peering over at her from the middle row of seats.

“I shot someone…” Kat whispers feeling like she was going to be sick.

“You saved us.” A man with greying silvery short hair from first class speaks up.

“You did.” Moore agrees.

“Here you are Ma’am.” A flight attendant hands her a glass of water shakily. Kat takes it with a shaky nod of her own.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

“My brothers taught me… they’re FBI agents…” Kat says quietly.

“I’m going to give you this back, please put it away.” Moore hands her, her gun. Kat puts it in her duffle bag zipping it closed.

“Attention passengers, we would like to ask everyone in economy class in seats A and B to please move to seats behind row twenty and in front of row fifteen. Thank you. Please follow Air Marshal Moore and the Flight Attendants orders; we will hopefully be landing soon.” The captain comes on the intercom.

“I’m going to go calm people down.” Moore pats her arm giving a nod to the other two people in first class before moving into the back of the plane. Kat sits in her seat staring at the seat in front of her sipping the water to keep from puking.

“Attention passengers, I’m sorry to say we will not be landing in Houston… it seems the airport is not responding. We will be continuing directly to DC.” Kat turns to look at the silver haired man a few seats away from her.

“That can’t be good.” He mutters with a shake of his head. Kat shakes her head mutely. The plane should hold enough fuel to make it to DC… but that was only if they’d been fully fueled before taking off, and with their rush to send planes out the chances of that where slim. Kat pulls out her phone connecting to the inflight Wi-Fi. A strange sound behind her catches her attention before she can dial. She turns around in her seat her face paling as she sees the woman the boy had bitten moving. The same guttural growls the boy had been making issuing from her lips as she attempts to reach for a woman a few seats in front of hers.

“Moore!” Kat yells unbuckling quickly and jumping to her feet. Moore quickly runs into the first class slipping between the seats to move to her aisle from the other one.

“What? What is it?” Kat points at the woman… or corpse. Its eyes where clouded, face pale from the blood lose from having the boy biting out its neck.

“Oh shit, she was bit. Does anyone have a knife?” He calls looking around. Kat nods turning and quickly pulling her pocket knife from her bag and handing it to him.

“How many weapons do you have?”

“Five… gun, pocket knife, bow, and two Swiss army knives.” Kat answers with a shrug. “My brother called me panicked and said to get to DC that something was happening and to bring my gun… my brother doesn’t panic. So I brought my gun… plus some.” Kat was surprised by how calm she felt… she wasn’t sure if she was going back into shock or if her emotions where too overloaded at that point to work or what, but despite her fear she was calming down.

“Well we’re all lucky you came prepared.” Moore snorts and moves swiftly up to the corpse. It grabs at his clothing while he grabs the top of its head forcing it’s face down against the armrest while he stabs it in the back of the head at the base of the skull. The corpse slumps down, dead… again.

“The mother was bitten too… Will she… turn?” Kat asks not completely sure what word to use.

“No you shot her in the head… what I saw on TV seemed to suggest that if you kill the brain these things stay dead.” Moore cleans off the knife with the woman’s shirt before handing it back to her. Kat stares at it before nodding slowly and putting it back in her bag. Kat sits back down picking back up her phone she quickly dials Spencer’s number.

“Hello? Kat?”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on? The air marshal said there is some kind of virus going around… It kills people then they come back to life as some kind of fucked up zombie?”

“He’s right.” Spencer says quietly his voice resigned.

“I know he is! A kid bit a woman’s neck out; she just came back to fucking life!” Kat snaps.

“What? Are you okay, did you get bit?” Spencer asks franticly.

“Is that Kat? Why are you asking her that? What’s happening, Reid?” Kat can hear Morgan, one of her brother’s coworkers and their unofficial older brother ask.

“No, I… I’m okay. We dealt with it… but the boy’s mother she lost it when Moore had to shoot him… She… she took his gun and was threatening to kill us… I.” Kat falls silent taking a breath. “She aimed it at the window; she would have killed everyone on board. I had to shoot her, Spence… I shot her, I killed someone.”

“Oh god…” Spencer whispers clearly to himself, he takes a shaky breath. “Katrina listen to me, you did what you had to do. Okay? You didn’t have a choice. It will be okay.”

“I… I know. But Spence what is this?” Kat asks blinking back tears as she tries to hold it together. She just wanted to be in DC already, to hug her big brother and pretend none of this had happened.

“We don’t know. How long until you land?”

“I don’t know we took off early then we were supposed to land for a layover in Houston but the pilot said the airport wasn’t responding so we’re coming straight to DC. I’m guessing at least two to four hours.”

“The airport wasn’t responding?” Spencer asks his voice tense.

“That’s what he said…” Kat frowns why hadn’t it responded… oh. It was gone; the airport was probably over run by those… those things. “Spence, how bad is this thing?”

“It’s everywhere, all over the world. We’ve just been told to go home or to the refugee center the military is setting up downtown. Apparently both Seattle and New York have already been overrun.”

“Seattle? That’s what the smoke was then… Chaos as those… things took over.”

“Probably.” Kat frowns as Spencer’s voice crackles.

“Spence? Your breaking up.”

“I’m losing signal… the cell towers have been being over loaded… I’m… lose you. When you land get to Rossi’s.” Spencer’s voice gets more and more staticky as he talks.

“Spence? Spencer?”

“Get to Rossi’s, I love you…”

“I love you too.” Kat says franticly as the connection gets worse.

“Get… Rossi’s.” The call goes dead.

“Spencer? Spencer?” Kat whispers desperately into the phone. She closes her eyes leaning her head against the seat in front of her. Get to Rossi’s… Get to Rossi’s… She could do that, couldn’t she?

“Attention passengers please return to your seats and buckle up. We seem to be running low on fuel and will be making an emergency landing. Please prepare.” Kat bites her lip buckling in and wrapping the seat beside hers buckle through the handles of her bags hopefully to keep them from flying around and hitting her if things got too bumpy.

Kat grips the arms of her seat as she stares out the plane window as they begin a rapid decent. Trees grow bigger as they fly very close over them until finally they touch down with a lot of jerks and bumps before finally coming to a stop in what appears to be a field.

“We have landed safely somewhere in Georgia. Please remain seated. We will come and get you and your belongings row by row as soon as the emergency slide is in place.” Kat takes a shaky breath loosening her grip on the seat arms. She gathers her stuff, not planning to leave her stuff behind.

“Ma’am your next. Please bring your stuff and make your way to where the captain is waiting.” The flight attendant who brought her water before motions her to go to the door. Kat makes her way over there.

“You’re the one who shot the woman who had the gun right?” The captain asks. Kat nods. “Thank you. We will slide your luggage down to my co-pilot first then you, alright?”

“Okay.” Kat slides one bag at a time down the slide then sits at the edge; she takes a breath and slides down, grateful for the helping hand of the co-pilot as she reaches the bottom. She takes her bags and moves to the side looking around. There was no way she was going to be able to lug all these bags all the way from middle of nowhere Georgia to DC.

Within an hour the plane was empty, Moore and a few flight attendants lowering what food, water, blankets, pillows, and other useful items they found while searching the plane down before coming down themselves.

“Now what do we do?” Someone yells.

“Survive?” Moore suggests with a shrug.

“Whatever this is, it’s everywhere.” Kat speaks up deciding to share what Spencer told her with the others. “They’re setting up a refugee center in downtown DC. It’s a ways but if we can make it there we may be safe? Or safe-ish…” Kat shakes her head with a frown.

“And how do you know that?” A woman asks in a snide tone.

“My brother is an FBI agent he lives in DC. I talked to him a few hours ago, he said this virus is everywhere all over the world. They sent the agents home or to the center.” Kat explains glaring at the woman.

“Why should we listen to the murderer?” One man yells. Kat frowns and shakes her head turning to grab her bags.

“She saved all our lives so you can shut your mouth!” Silver haired guy speaks up.

“She shouldn’t have even had a gun on board!” A woman retorts.

“I normally check it, as is the law, but they told me to just get on just like they did you, I told them I had it.” Kat snaps.

“Enough! Look we’re on our own. Help isn’t coming. So we need to get moving. If there is a center in DC then there may be one in Atlanta. We should head there.” The co-pilot suggests. A few people nod.

“My brother said both Seattle and New York where overrun who’s to say Atlanta isn’t either? I think DC is our best shot.” Kat argues.

“And how exactly do you propose we get to DC? Walk?” Another man asks.

“Yeah if we have to, just like how we’d get to Atlanta.” Kat points out.

“I agree with Kat, we should head to DC.” Moore sides with her.

“Well I ain’t going anywhere, when our plane doesn’t show up someone will come looking.” One woman says sitting down, a few people follow suit.

“How about we split into groups, those going to Atlanta will go with Jeffery.” The captain motions to the co-pilot. “Those going to DC can go with me, Moore, and Kat. And those who want to stay can?” People nod seemingly liking that plan.

“We’ll split the food and water evenly into three groups then split into groups.” Jeffery says people nod. The flight attendants, Jeffery, and the captain split up the food. The captain bringing a bag full over to Kat and Moore. Jeffery gives a bag to the people who clearly have decided to stay and takes the third with him.

“Okay split into your groups.” Silver hair guy and the other first class passenger join Kat’s group along with three of the five flight attendants, the woman with the toddler, a teenager and a young girl, and two others.

“Why don’t we all start with introducing ourselves?” The captain suggests. “I’m Daniel Blake.”

“Jacob Moore.”

“Katrina Reid, most people call me Kat.”

“Johnathon Thomas, call me Tom.” Silver hair says.

“Mia Jones.” The flight attendant who gave Kat the glass of water speaks up.

“Olivia Charles.”

“Tiffany Dunge.” The other two flight attendants speak up.

“Tommy Myers.” The other man from first class says.

“Matilda June, people call me Tilly, this is Lillian.” The woman with a toddler speaks up introducing the little girl in her arms.

“I’m John Francis; this is my sister Taylor Francis.” The teen introduces himself and the little girl.

“Isabella Johnson.”

“Marcus Brown.” Kat surveys their group looking each person over closely.

Daniel had short neatly cut black hair with a few streaks of grey, he was around fifty years old, with pale skin, and looked to be biracial half white, half Asian, around Kat’s height. Moore was younger nearer her age, maybe a few years older in his early thirties, he had curly brown hair cut short, inquisitive brown eyes, and pale skin with freckles sprinkled across his face, he was tall and lanky, probably over six foot, he reminded her of Spencer. Tom had silvery greying hair a silver beard with a slight mustache and a scar on his right cheek, tall about six foot.

Mia had blonde hair, was shorter then Kat by an inch or two maybe five-five. Olivia had black very curly hair held close to her head by a tight bun, she was African American with a very dark complexion, a few freckles along her nose, she was around Kat’s height. Tiffany was Asian, very short around five foot with black long hair held in a ponytail and dark brown eyes. Tommy had bright red carrot orange hair, freckles across his face, and startling blue eyes, he was tall and lanky at around 6 foot.

Tilly was young around Kat’s age, maybe a year older so around twenty-eight. She had dark brown hair like Kat’s and emerald green eyes; she was Kat’s height almost exactly so about five-seven. Lillian looked like her mom with curly brown hair pulled back into two pigtails she was about three with the same emerald green eyes.

John was pale, around five-ten, clearly about sixteen or seventeen years old, he had long black hair that reached just past his shoulders, an earring in his left ear. Taylor had long wavy golden blonde hair pulled back in a braid like Kat’s, she had bright blue eyes and seemed to be around ten or eleven.

Isabella was a bottle blonde with brown roots just starting to show, she was pale with hazel eyes, and was chewing gum. Marcus was the tallest well over six foot Kat guessed around six-five, he had brood shoulders, dark skin, and a shaved head.

“Let’s see if we can find a house or road so we can figure out where we are and maybe find a map.” Daniel suggests. They all grab their bags and follow him. Kat lugs her bags after him, she was going to have to figure out a better solution to carrying her stuff and soon if she was going to make it to DC.

“Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.” – Winston Churchill

---Line Break---

AN:

I hope you all enjoyed! I’m looking forward to working on this story for a long time. I have plans to continue this far into the future possibly even reaching the time period the show is currently set it. Let me know what you think! Follow me to be notified when a new chapter is posted or to be notified when I post a new story or update my other current stories!

Any kind of review that is nice even a Good Chapter or a smiley face is appreciated!

– Kat

#walking dead #Criminal Minds #crossover #Daryl Dixon #daryl dixon x oc #walking dead fanfiction

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ti-bae-rius · 6 years

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My friend - who has never read TSC- reviews TDA characters

So, my friend Matt is back by popular demand in order to review some more characters. This time, we’re doing TDA. God help us. He’s one of my best friends but he’s a free spirit and so I can’t control his savage comments. Don’t blame me for what he says lol.

Julian (aka Julius/who?/creepy sex bandit): is supposedly the team leader. 12 going on 50. Probably schedules his wanks. In a “totally non stalker way” only paints Emma. Has a special room where no one is allowed in that’s just wall to wall Emma.

Emma (aka BFF BF/Mascot of the Friendzone): the main character in the chronicles of Ty-day Friday. She really wants to fuck her best friend and it’s making the world explode. Probs got crabs from having sex on the beach.

Diana (aka too badass to need a nickname): great facial tattoos #respect (he likes Diana)

Gwynn: Who the fuck is Gwen?

Cristina (aka Aguilera/Crystal (with a K)): a drop of colour in a sea of white also on a gap year because reasons

Kieran - I’m not aware of this one. I think he’s full fey full gay. Banging half fey half gay.

Mark (aka Marcus/Half fey half gay): In the wild hunt which sounds like a gay club.

Arthur (aka fist shaker): Blackthorns’ uncle who is the literal embodiment of ‘get off my lawn’

Helen: (aka half fey all gay) got banished to an island because she’s fucking the senator’s daughter

Tavvy (aka Blood Bag/Tabby): little bitch everyone has to take care of. Gets kidnapped more than Magnus’s pets - sorry children. Only job in life is to keep Dru busy and push the plot when needed.

Dru (aka goth Meg Griffin/actual cinnamon roll): Can kick ass and have curves. Less of an impact than the cat. (He means Church) Possibly fricking an 18 year old whilst 13. Take that Romeo and Juliet.

Ty: (aka Ty-Day Friday*) in the best buddy cop relationship with his twin sister, Gravestone. Autistic gay. He has lots of siblings. His twin died. Thatâ€™s a thing.

Livvy (aka gravestone): all I know is she died and she was liked. Liv - what an ironic name.

Kit (Kitamine/K(it)leptomaniac): his name sounds like he’s part of a Swiss Army knife. I don’t know his role. Half human half shadow hunter. Despite this, he somehow bags Ty-day Friday.

(*if you don’t know, Tidy Friday is a private school British phrase we use for when someone grabs your tie and yanks on it so it tightens into a tight knot and you can’t undo it. We generally do it on a Friday at the end of the day in last period. It’s really annoying. It’s also mine and Matt’s favourite thing)

#tda #the dark artifices #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #Lord Of Shadows #queen of air and darkness #qooad #los #lady midnight #lm #cassandra clare

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newstfionline · 5 years

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Humans Made Drones by Copying Birds. Birds Are Fighting Back.

By Rebecca Giggs, The Atlantic, Dec. 7, 2018

In the National Gallery of Australia’s permanent collection is a painting by Sidney Nolan titled The Alarm. One in a series of artworks chronicling the downfall of the Kelly gang--infamous outlaws of the late 1800s--it depicts a peacock encountering a policeman. Peacocks, the painting’s interpretive text explains, were in those days sometimes dragooned as sentries. The birds can sight a threat two miles away and tend to shriek in panic. A person wishing to protect his property might have used one as an early-warning system--a telescope and Klaxon rolled into one.

Today, a bird’s-eye perspective is exploited by nefarious enterprises and law enforcement alike, in the form not of a peacock, but of a drone. Drone innovators have made a close study of the biomechanics and behaviors of birds. Motorized load-grippers take inspiration from the grasping motion of raptors’ legs, and camera-lens designers strive to replicate the acuity of eagles’ eyes. To model wing aerodynamics, engineers at Stanford University have flown tiny parrots in tiny protective goggles across a laser field suffused with aerosolized particles. Other researchers have used drones to study the complex undulations (known as “murmurations”) made by groups of starlings, while scientists in Europe have looked to the in-air coordination of pigeon flocks for ideas about how drones might tweak their flight paths alongside one another.

Beyond improving drone functionality, biomimicry can abet drone subterfuge. In June, the South China Morning Post reported on a new generation of inconspicuous “dove” drones used to monitor citizens in at least five Chinese provinces. These quiet, lightweight drones (complete with flapping wings) purportedly go unrecognized even by animals. One developer has described deliberately testing them near sheep, which, despite being generally skittish and alert to novelty in their environment, were oblivious of the robots overhead.

Ever greater numbers of drones are entering the airspace not just as tools of surveillance but as instruments of commerce and as playthings. This has led to an interesting moment. The airspace that drones occupy is far from empty; it is habitat. What lives there may be unwilling to cede its territory.

Australia, with its expansive terrain and favorable weather, is well appointed as a natural laboratory for commercial drone testing. But drone operators on this continent encounter a hazard that tracks their technology from above and descends on it with destructive intent: the wedge-tailed eagle, which has taken to skirmishing with drones. Videos captured from the drone’s-eye perspective have proved popular online--a subgenre of nature-fights-machine. Such footage inevitably ends in a flurry: talons ripping at the drone’s carbon-fiber frame, a whirling fall, then hard impact. In Western Australia’s goldfields, a single mining company reported that eagles had inflicted more than $70,000 worth of damage to its surveyor drones.

The French and the Swiss are training eagles to bring down errant or hostile drones. As peacocks were once sentinels, so eagles may in time become tools of our countersurveillance.

#drones

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martinsenmcdermott52 · 2 years

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Bvlgari Girls's Luggage

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stephensonibsen6 · 2 years

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210 Finest Bvlgari Luggage Ideas In 2021

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crappydeathnote · 2 years

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the Swiss Roll chronicles.

based on this Greentext AI post by @rosiebrie.

#death note #death note fanart #l lawliet #light yagami #miheal keehl #nate river #quillish wammy #the swiss roll chronicles #greentext #comics #rosiebrie

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sohannabarberaesque · 6 years

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Postcards from Snagglepuss (Minnesota State Fair edition): Some different perspectives on the Fair scene

If I may, kind reader, may I just use the opportunity afforded today's offering to delineate upon three rather interesting ways by which the view of the Minnesota State Fair gets to be different. And then some.

For starters, may I begin with the Space Tower, a chestnut going back to 1964 and operational only during Fairtime. At 330 feet tall, the rotating bi-level cabin really gives new meaning on "birds'-eye view". Especially as it approaches the top, whence the cabin spins around twice to afford a full-on panoramic perspective of not just the Minnesota State Fairgrounds, but also out towards Como Park and the skylines of both St. Paul and Minneapolis. Not to mention the traffic on Snelling Avenue trying to get back home, let alone the Fair. And did I mention the rail yards of Minnesota Transfer? And then, it's back down--or as some would say, a major letdown. But the best time to go into the Space Tower is at night; you get a rather wonderful nighttime view of the scene, including the Grandstand area as the evening's show is progressing. The Leinie Lodge Bandshell ... the Ag-Hort Building ... the International Bazaar, even! Not to mention the Minnesota State Capitol building illuminated in her Luscious Glory, as well as the aforementioned skylines ... not to mention the broadcasting towers of Shoreview for most of the Twin Cities broadcasting outlets, as well as the legendary tower of KSTP-AM out in Maplewood.

Close by, the Swiss Sky Ride, replete with chintzy-looking cabins calling to mind some second-rate ski resort or mountain lift, connecting the general area of the Ag-Hort Building with the Grandstand and West End Market. From about the same time the Space Tower came along ... and along the way, again, the view of the Fairgrounds is rather wonderful. Especially when the crowds are at their heighth, on the weekends in particular ... but at least there's a decent little window as opens for ventilation in case things seem too stuffy. What more could you ask for?

Especially with a quick run to the West End Market for as much some browsing as the History and Heritage Centre--rather spacious, airy and dazzling beyond belief, chronicling Minnesota State Fair history remarkably well. And I didn't know until today that the Minnesota State Fair was the first to stage fireworks displays as entertainment spectacles, in the process setting new and evolving standards in presentation and in safety procedures when it came to handling and setting up the displays. (Although I admit trying to hold back the giggles when I learned that one of the companies as staged the State Fair's pyrotechnic spectaculars went by the name of Pain Pyrotechnics. Even Muttley couldn't resist responding as much.)

An ice-cream waffle sandwich, and some browsing around Varied Industries, all the retail space, all the demonstrations, all the activism even! Not to mention the famous Televac Personality Computer, expected to figure out your personality based on your signature! Yet would it accept a paw print from someone like Scooby-Doo for the sake of this offer?

Then, one of those legendary London broil sandwiches from the Butcher Boy's stand. Hearty enough, even Big H could be imagined going through at least a half-dozen such as the grill on which the London broil is prepared creates its own smoky sort of atmosphere in that general area. Truly a sight to experience, to behold even....

Which was the preparation for another unique perspective on the Fair, coming from the SkyGlider, a high-speed chairlift distraction that could be said to "really and truly observe" the scene on the north side of the State Fairgrounds. Especially as its route passes over Machinery Hill, the Kidway, even The North Woods and Little Farm Hands, created to explain to kids what farming is all about and how the food we consume is all possible, concluding near the pet-show pavilion. Again, when it's just right, you can't help but sense the crowds just seeking what this Great Minnesota Get-Together is all about. And before returning back, paying a visit to Cinnie Smith's, featuring mini cinnamon rolls in a modest paper cup ... and if desired, some cream-cheese icing to dip them in.

And I couldn't resist the fact of no less than those Cattanooga Cats there, too, howbeit at a bacon cheeseburger stand in the same general area. And for some reason, Kitty Jo couldn't resist taking her eyes off of me as we met, and exchanged some small talk. Not to mention Groove going into a silly air-drum routine and Scoots--well, perhaps recalling some county fair "back in the holler" when some crazy uncles entered a rather seedy-looking hog in competition, and yet managed to take home a blue ribbon for want of other worthwhile porcine exhibits that year.

... and yet, heading back via the SkyGlider, sitting next to Scoots, we couldn't resist swapping tall tales, and then some. Followed by the World's Greatest French Fries (yes, that's what they called the stand), who, as it turned out, also saw the presence of Quick Draw McGraw, Ruff and Reddy, Peter Potamus, even Inch-High, Lori and Gator. As well as Sandy, Monica--and Dinky Dog, who himself couldn't resist skin-on French fries with a decent slathering of ketchup!

#fanfic #hanna barbera #minnesota state fair #snagglepuss #vignettes #space tower #swiss sky ride #west end market #varied industries #london broil sandwich #skyglider #cinnie smiths #cattanooga cats #french fries

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mikaltom53 · 3 years

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Tabletalk Devotions with R.C. Sproul

Duration: 365 days

Earthly Enforcers

Daniel 12:1 “At that time shall arise Michael, the great prince who has charge of your people” (v. 1a).

Central to the biblical description of God is the doctrine of divine providence. Scripture is clear that the Lord did not make the world and then leave it alone to run its course. Rather, He continues to uphold and sustain His creation (Heb. 1:1–4). God’s continuing involvement with creation is according to His design as He works out “all things according to the counsel of his will” (Eph. 1:11).

What is often forgotten when considering divine providence is that the angels are some of the many secondary agents through which the primary agent — God Himself — works out His plan. Angels themselves are not divine; they are creatures who, along with everything else the Almighty has made (Rev. 4:11), have an origin in space and time.

That the Lord uses angels to govern His creation is clear from many places in Scripture. We are familiar with the involvement of angels in certain miraculous events, such as the resurrection of Jesus, when an angel rolled the stone away from the opening of the tomb (Matt. 28:1–10). Yet the Bible seems to teach that angels are involved in everyday events as well, such as the rise and fall of human governments. This is a point made by the twentieth-century Swiss scholar Oscar Cullmann. In a series of essays, Professor Cullmann analyzed passages like Daniel 12:1 and noted that certain angels are apparently linked to certain societies and nations. The influence of the supernatural can be either heavenly or demonic, as illustrated in the conflict between Michael, the one with charge over God’s people, and the prince of Persia (chap. 10). Still, both angels and demons apparently hold great sway and influence over the course of human events, which does not surprise the Father, of course, as He is the Creator.

Scripture also reveals a difference in rank among the angels. Jude 9 refers to the archangel Michael who has a leadership role in the angelic host (archangel means “head angel” or “ruling angel”). Gabriel may also function in this role, though the Bible never calls him an archangel. In any case, this order and rank is not surprising. After all, the angels were created by the God of order.

CORAM DEO: LIVING BEFORE THE FACE OF GOD

Knowing that the Lord has an army in heaven who wages war against His enemies is very encouraging. Since we are His people, we know that God’s angels are fighting on our behalf and advancing the good plans our Creator has for each of His children. Who knows how many times we each have been rescued from trouble because of the intervention of the Lord’s army? The close calls we experience may just be evidence of God’s angels at work.

For further study:

Joshua 5:13–15

The Bible in a year:

1 Chronicles 8–10

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abbottikeler · 3 years

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The Ikelers: A Family Chronicle, 1753-2018 (Part I)

The following brief history spans some ten generations of Ikelers, from the first day in the New World for immigrant German brothers, Hieronymus and Conrad Eichler, in the 1750s, to the youngest of the clan, Rosa and Levin Ikeler, fraternal twins born in Brooklyn in 2014. These pages incorporate much new information and correct much misinformation from my first research efforts in the summer of 2006. I’ve tried to keep the focus not only on key personalities and events but also on the historical context in which they’re embedded, in the hope that such an approach will bring the following family chronicle more fully to life.

As with any genealogical narrative, however, there’s a caveat that must be entered: numerous questions remain unanswered; numerous gaps remain unfilled. With luck and energy and ever more efficacious information tools, perhaps one of you, my curious, Ikeler-related readers, will someday solve all the outstanding mysteries of our family past.

Keeping that in mind, let me share with you what it is we do know as of 2018.

The First Ikelers in America The ship’s manifest and the oath of allegiance to King George II, sworn at the Government Courthouse in Philadelphia on September 8, 1753, contain the signatures of Hieronymus and Conrad Eichler among those of some sixty other adult males who sailed from Hamburg and the Isle of Wight the previous July. The documents tell us the ship was the St. Michael, under the command of a British sea captain, Thomas Ellis, Esq. Hieronymus, 28, was accompanied by his wife, Justina, and their two sons, Conrad, 5, and Wilhelm, 3; Hieronymus’ brother Conrad, 21, brought only his bride, Catharina.

We do not know where exactly in northern Germany the brothers came from, nor who their parents were. The records of those who emigrated from Hamburg to the British colonies, housed for centuries in the city hall, were unfortunately destroyed by allied bombing in World War II.

We can make some educated guesses, however, about their livelihood and their motives for taking ship to the new world. If they came from the Hamburg parish of St. Michael and worshipped, like many of their shipmates, at the Lutheran Cathedral there, they were most likely unskilled or semi-skilled laborers (Hieronymus signed his own and his younger brother’s name; Conrad merely made his mark). If they came from a village within a few days journey of Hamburg, they were almost certainly tenant farmers, or the children of tenant farmers. Their surname, fairly common still in Germany, derives from the German word for oak and may suggest the family’s original occupational identity (woodsman, cabinetmaker, carpenter, etc.) or possibly its place of origin (near an oak forest) in medieval times.

As for the brothers’ motives for leaving Germany, several factors were probably in play. Given the depressed economy in the northern German states throughout the first half of the 18th century and the grim working conditions of tenant farmers on landed estates (comparably to those of share croppers in the American South before World War II), the prospects for young married men of their class were bleak.

My German-born daughter-in-law, Katja Ikeler (b. 1985, nee Suehling), has discovered another phenomenon of the times that doubtless encouraged their departure from the old world. The British were actively recruiting able-bodied German, Swiss and Dutch families to resettle in the 13 colonies so they might provide cheap service and labor to the resident English population through indenture, and later (as independent farmers) bring great tracts of the wilderness under cultivation, thereby displacing the troublesome native Americans. The British employed scores of itinerant, bilingual agents to travel from village to village, address congregations of working-class men in town halls and churches, and entice the locals to emigrate—offering them visions of land-owning in a country that yielded bountiful harvests with a minimum of labor. German landlords were, of course, fiercely opposed to British interference with their tenant farmers--breaking up meetings when they could, and warning potential emigrants there would be no work for them if they should return. Still, the British campaign (begun in the 1730s and continued right up to the Revolutionary War) brought more than 30,000 continental Europeans, mostly Germans, to the middle colonies. At the peak of the effort, in 1753, some nine English sailing ships were in constant service carrying immigrants from Hamburg to Philadelphia, delivering nearly 200 new arrivals to the Philadelphia docks every month. It was at the end of that same summer that the six members of the Eichler family trooped down the gangplank onto American soil.

Puzzlingly, aside from the two sets of signatures affixed by Hieronymus and Conrad that day, there is no evidence of the family’s whereabouts for the next seven years. That can only mean one thing: the Eichlers, like the overwhelming majority of German immigrants to the 13 Colonies, allowed themselves to be sold into indentured service in order to pay for their passage. Whether it was a Philadelphia merchant or a local farmer who successfully bid for their labor that day on the docks, we do not know. Nor do we know to how many different masters the individual family members were contracted, though it is likely more than one. No documentation on the Eichlers’ servitude has yet surfaced, but I can quote a couple of examples of similar contracts from the same year and place, in each case the passage money going directly to the captain of the vessel:

“Catherina Boon in consideration twelve pistoles paid Benjamin Shoemaker for her passage from Holland indents herself servant to Joseph Marshall of Phila. bricklayer for four years from this date, customary dues.” “John Jurg Gottschalk in consideration nine pistoles paid Benjamin Shoemaker for his passage from Holland indents himself servant to John Ecker of Lancaster County yeoman for two years and three months from this date, customary dues.”

Except for the prospect of eventual freedom and the “freedom dues” they received at the end of their contracted time (enabling them to purchase a modest piece of land), indentured servants were indistinguishable from slaves. They could not vote, travel, buy or sell anything. They were subject to physical punishment with no recourse in law, and women who became pregnant regularly had the length of their servitude extended for a year or more.

Circumstantial evidence suggests the Eichlers were indentured for seven years, since both wives, Justina and Catharina, had no more children until 1760, and Hieronymus, according to the records of a Lebanon, New Jersey merchant, bought a wagonload of farm tools and barn materials between 1760 and 1763. It is also only in the 1760s that Hieronymus and Conrad Eichler appeared as members of a congregation—the Zion Lutheran Church in New Germantown (renamed Oldwick in 1918), New Jersey.

It’s entirely possible that the “Conrad” here is Hieronymus’ son, then in his late teens, rather than his brother, since the elder Conrad fathered no children after 1760 and appeared frequently on the muster rolls of those enlisted in the British army right up to his death at the end of the Revolutionary War. It is also at the Zion Church that the younger Conrad baptized all three of his daughters in the 1770s, with Hieronymus and Justina as witnesses each time.

Certainly the church seemed to play a central role in Hieronymus’ life. His Christian name (Jerome in English) is not only that of a well-known saint and a celebrated Lutheran cleric in the 16th century, but also means sacred one, or one in holy orders. That he chose to move to the vicinity of the Zion Church as soon as his indenture was up was probably no coincidence either: from 1759 through 1760, the congregation boasted Henry Melchior Muehlenberg, the founder of Lutheranism in America, as their temporary pastor. In the same year, Hieronymus’ last child was born and appropriately named Jerome. Even in middle age, when the ride from his farm to the Zion Church apparently grew too arduous for him to make every week, Hieronymus joined some 25 other local German farmers in founding a satellite congregation in a nearby log cabin where they could worship in German three Sunday out of every four.

It is, in fact, the document that includes his name among the original members of that primitive church—members active between 1775 and 1780—that offers us the last evidence he was among the living. His younger brother, Conrad, again according to the muster rolls of the British army, died in camp near Charleston, South Carolina on 26 August 1780, probably of disease or fever, after years of participating in the southern campaign against the colonials. Conrad was 48 years old. Most likely Hieronymus, nearing sixty, died soon after on his farm in New Jersey. Thanks to a map recently discovered by Jim Ikeler, we now know where that farm was in Hunterdon County—several miles south of New Germantown, in Tewksbury Township, beside Rockaway Creek.

About this first generation of Ikeler men, born and raised in Germany, we have (as you can see) teasingly little information. About their wives, almost nothing. Where exactly were they indentured? When did Hieronymus, Justina and Catharina die? Where are they buried? All questions others must someday answer.

#genealogy #lineage #family tree

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