Obie's Truth, Book 2, Hangtown or Bust, coming soon

 

Coming soon, OBIE'S TRUTH.

Years ago, I wrote an historical novel titled Obie's Quest. Once published it was available for a brief period of time and then pulled from the market. As a result, the book is now out of print, difficult to find, and increasingly expensive. Occasionally an old copy reaches the hands of a publisher who then contacts me in hopes of acquiring the rights to my book. The following is a quote from a recent proposal to publish the original manuscript.

"I am thrilled to share some wonderful news about Obie's Quest. I recently presented your book to a number of industry professionals who specialize in historical fiction, young adult historical adventures, and cultural storytelling. The feedback was extraordinary! Several professionals remarked on your ability to blend humor, historical accuracy, and compelling narrative, creating a story that is both entertaining and enlightening. Your portrayal of Obadiah Camp’s adventures left them captivated and eager to explore possibilities for adaptation, educational integration, and regional promotion.

Here are the reactions of 14 professionals:

1. Margarett Crauss, book scout, HarperCollins
   "Obie's Quest is a brilliant mix of history and humor. The narrative breathes life into the 19th century and makes it approachable for both young and adult readers."
2. Dr. Li Hua, Editor, Beijing Historical Literature Circle
   "I was fascinated by how Shannon intertwines historical facts with witty storytelling. It makes history accessible and enjoyable to a wide audience."
3. Ms. Chen Rong, Literary Advisor, Hong Kong Storytellers Guild
   "The humor and charm of Obadiah Camp are irresistible. This book would resonate with teens and adults who appreciate history with heart."
4. Mr. Gao Jian, Independent Publisher, Guangzhou Heritage Press
   "Obie's Quest captures the spirit of America’s formative years in a way that is both educational and delightfully engaging."
5. Ms. Lin Yue, Young Readers Program Coordinator, Shanghai Literacy Network
   "The story encourages curiosity about history while entertaining the reader. It is perfect for school programs and reading groups."
6. Dr. Nabila Karim, Curriculum Designer, Asia Historical Education Initiative
   "This book could be used in classrooms to illustrate historical events while keeping students entertained. The narrative style is perfect for engaging reluctant readers."
7. Ms. Rosa Santos, Podcast Producer, ‘Historical Tales for Teens’
   "Obie's Quest is a story that begs to be adapted into an audio series. The narrative pacing and humor make it ideal for serialized episodes."
8. Mr. Rafael Ortega, Workshop Facilitator, Guangzhou Teen Writers Program
   "The character development and historical depth make Obadiah a role model for curiosity, perseverance, and ingenuity."
9. Ms. Asha Verma, Library Outreach Coordinator, Hong Kong Public Library
   "Obie's Quest is a compelling addition to library collections, appealing to readers interested in American history, adventure, and humor."
10. Mr. Kenji Ito, Festival Organizer, Beijing Young Readers Festival
    "The story is perfect for live readings and interactive storytelling sessions. Teens will be captivated by the adventures and humor."
11. Ms. Yuki Tanaka, Reviewer, Asian Historical Fiction Insights
    "Shannon has created a narrative that entertains while educating. The historical details are accurate, and the humor makes it memorable."
12. Mr. Victor Hale, Digital Content Producer, Interactive History Studios
    "Obie's Quest has potential for interactive adaptation. Imagine readers following Obadiah’s travels through maps, journals, and immersive media."
13. Ms. Hannah Lee, YA Literature Educator, Guangzhou Schools
    "This book would spark lively classroom discussions about America’s history, migration, and cultural development."
14. Mr. Oliver Choi, Teen Engagement Specialist, Hong Kong Literary Festivals
    "Obadiah’s journey is both humorous and inspiring. This book will engage teens in history like never before."

Shannon, the response to Obie's Quest has been truly inspiring. Schools, libraries, festivals, and media professionals are eager to share Obadiah’s journey." 

Heartened by this renewed interest, I intend to self-publish a newly edited and slightly updated version of the original manuscript under the title of Obie's Truth. Stay tuned. Once available they'll go fast. SC

OBIE'S TRUTH-Preface

• OBIE'S TRUTH
• Book 1 AMERICA WAS REAL   Prologue through episode 38
• Book 2 HANGTOWN or BUST   episode 39 through 86
• Preface
• There are those who would have you believe that truth is variable, inconstant, and open to interpretation. I'm here to tell you it is not. Truth is an accurate, unbiased, and verifiable reflection of pure, provable, incontestable facts. An honest representation of observed circumstances may well be subject to inconsistency as the result of perception, misconception, and inadvertent prejudice, but regardless of viewpoints, biases, and long held beliefs, in each and every circumstance, there is but one truth. The following account represents not only my truth, but the provable, incontestable, and undeniable truth. This is Obie's Truth. (Which is a lot to ask of an innocuous, little work of fiction) SC/OJHC 

Lord willing, Clara's Best will be available soon. Cross your fingers.

 Shannon Thomas Casebeer

SNOWED IN AT TAHOE

 

MIAH

The Hangtown Trilogy

Episode Eighteen

SNOWED IN AT TAHOE

Autumn of our third year as man and wife found winter approaching and Meami’s family prepared to set out once again for Carson Valley. Our cabin being complete for the most part, we decided to winter at the lake.

I was proud of our cabin. I was gratified by my achievement. The familiar shelter, warmed by the crackling fire and sheltered from the wind and the weather, comforted me like my mother’s warm embrace. For me, the cabin offered a sense of security. It felt like home.

It took Miami a long time to become accustomed to the cabin. For her, the cabin represented confinement. She was accustomed to teepees and huts. These were a part of nature with which Meami was entirely familiar. The teepee breathed and reverberated softly with the elements. It was very much one with nature and the earth. For Meami, the very protection the cabin was designed to provide was oppressive and suffocating. Cut off from the subtle rustlings of the elements, Meami felt confined and claustrophobic. Whenever possible, we left the windows open so that Meami could breathe. With the approach of winter, the windows would be closed and tightly shuttered.

Winter would test our cabin, our preparedness, and our resolve. I’d built a small pole barn for the mules and livestock, and we’d purchased a quantity of prairie hay from Carson Valley. We’d stocked the woodshed with vast amounts of seasoned firewood, winterized the cabin as best we could, and stocked the coffers with what we hoped would be sufficient provisions to last until spring.

During my time on the riverboat, I’d developed a mighty tenacious coffee habit. I arranged my entire day around coffee breaks. During my early years at Tahoe, coffee was rarely an option. On the rare occasions when it was available, it was almost always unaffordable. Meami’s family brewed teas from almost everything. Everything of course with the exception of actual tea leaves. They brewed tea from everything from roots to nuts. They brewed tea from wildflowers, tree bark, rosehips and grasshoppers. It was an acquired taste, and I soon acquired it. During the long winter days during which I suffered from cabin fever, I spent countless hours hunkered before a crackling fire while consuming vast and varied varieties of brewed tonics guaranteed to cure whatever ails ya.

The children loved their grandpa, the chief. And he them. As we’ve already established, the chief valued his time. The Chief prided himself on using his time wisely, and he lavished it on the kids. One winter, he whittled them each a willow whistle, and they formed a band. For weeks the house reverberated with the melodious caterwauling of high-pitched toots and tweets. It was absolutely intoxicating, and I was soon intoxicated.

The cabin leaked chipmunks. They didn’t leak out; they leaked in! We had screened in the bottoms of the Hoosier and the pie safe to prevent raids and made every effort to secure our dresser drawers to prevent pests from nesting in our underwear. There’s nothing like a nest of disorderly chipmunks to aerate your long johns.

We had on hand a good provision of dried fruits and venison, and the smokehouse contained a quantity of smoked meats. To the extent we could, we’d prepared ourselves for almost anything. Or so we hoped.

November passed peacefully enough. As December began, winter arrived with a vengeance! By January, the snow had reached the bottoms of the windows, and retrieving water required breaking ice. Our wood range and stone fireplace began consuming wood at an alarming rate. I’d collected huge pinecones for use as kindling for restarting fires, but we rarely required kindling, as we were rarely comfortable letting the fires go out.

The morning temperatures were frequently in the 20s, and sunny days struggled to reach the 40s. With the snowpack quickly absorbing every sound, the silence was all-consuming. Silence is essential to becoming one with the cosmos. Without silence we never hear the stars.

Morning chores were accomplished hastily and with very little time spent in sightseeing. The concept of being entirely snowed in takes a toll. When the realization seizes you that, come hell or high water, there’s no getting out until spring, it’s not unexpected to feel a bit claustrophobic. The best cure is to picture something warm and enjoyable. The sight I enjoyed most of all was breakfast with the family in front of a crackling fire.

That being said, the lake in winter is a magical tonic for the most debilitating case of cabin fever. The mountain peaks literally glimmer in the twilight, with the evergreens silent and cloaked in robes of white. On cloudless days, the sun is absolutely blinding, and indigo skies are brilliant shades of blue. Silence prevails and serenity reigns supreme. During the night, the stars are bright as campfires in the snow, and the moon casts dancing shadows on the lake. Smoke billows undisturbed from our stovepipe and rises unmolested into jewellike skies. Only the crack of an overburdened limb occasionally interrupts the silence and echoes through the canyon below. You can hear the stars and sense each minute as the hours seep slowly into days, and days morph leisurely into months. Then one day, icicles began dripping from the eaves, and the melting snow heralded the welcome arrival of spring. With the spring thaw came the emergence of momma bears.

Copyright ©

Shannon T. Casebeer

Literally alive with puppies!

 

Photo: My great grandpa, Calvin Casebeer, 1865

• I just buried another puppy. Robin and I have been raising puppies for over twenty years. We’re not a kennel. We’ve never had more than two breeding females at a time. Still, when you keep two breeding females and each one has a litter of pups each year: over a twenty-year period, that’s a bunch of puppies! With each litter of pups, it’s not uncommon to have one little puppy whose not got the spunk to make it. That always makes me sad. They’re just dogs, you may say; get over it! After all these years of watching helpless little puppies draw their last breath in my lap, you’d think it wouldn’t bother me.
• 
  
• There’s a little scrap of scripture in the third chapter of Ecclesiastes, which talks about animals and heaven. It rarely surfaces in a sermon. There’s much in the Bible that rarely surfaces in sermons. I’m not a theologian, and I’m not interested in debating whether or not animals go to heaven. In any case, the way I read this scripture, it suggests to me that no one knows whether animals go to heaven. I find that comforting, especially when I’ve just lost a weeklong struggle to save a little puppy.
• The attached photo is my great granddad, Calvin Casebeer, soon after he concluded his service during the Civil War. He looks gaunt and traumatized, just as you’d expect him to look following such a horrific experience. Following the war, Calvin moved our family to the Ozark Mountains of south-central Missouri and spent the rest of his life reaching out to people and sharing The Good News, that Jesus loves us. Calvin passed away in 1907. I never got to meet him. I sure wish I had. I believe we need more people in the world like Calvin. I rarely miss the evening news. I frequently find it discouraging. Day after day, I watch people trying to pass off petty, political bickering as Christianity. Petty political bickering is just that! Christianity is something entirely different. Christianity is about reaching out compassionately to others, and like Calvin, sharing the Good News that Jesus loves us.
• 
  
• A short distance from our home is a pond and a little hill overlooking a meadow. As often as possible, I take my morning coffee back to that little overlook and spend time sharing my doubts and fears with Jesus. Some people will find this disturbing; some because they have absolutely no belief in a Savior, and others because they feel confident that, if there actually is a Savior, he surely has more important things to do than spend time visiting with an old hillbilly like me. Here’s my response to that: The strength of my faith varies from day to day. I wish it didn’t, but it does. I believe that’s true of most of us. On the good days, when my faith is strong, I believe that God, in His infinite wisdom and awesome power, is able to spend time with each and every one of us, just like we’re the only soul on earth. It lifts my spirit to believe that. I see no reason not to. I also believe it’s in the best interest of everyone who’s willing, to believe that as well, and to share that Good News with others, and help others believe that Jesus loves them too. I believe that one of these days I’ll hug great grandpa Calvin, and I believe Heaven is literally alive with puppies.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

If you enjoy heartwarming tales of Americana and honest to gosh adventure, you've reached your destination. There's manna here to last 'til the cows come home!

Lord willing, my historical novel, Clara's Best will be available for purchase this fall. Tell our friends.

 

In the meantime, here's an excerpt. Among other things, Clara's Best (As told by Clara) is the story of my great grandma, Clara Stancil, and her beloved, Henry. It's a story of life in the old West, long ago, when life seemed simple, summer was perennial, and childlike faith assured tomorrows' joys. If you don't enjoy it, I'll eat it up myself, page by page, and wash it down with a healthy dose of humility. SC

HANGTOWN TRILOGY

CLARA'S BEST

Episode Nine

CYNTHIA

Weeks later, my stepfather loaded me into a wagon, along with a few of our belongings, and lit out for parts unknown, never to be heard from again. There were rumors that he left for the Klondike, but we never really knew for sure and certain. Along the way, he dropped me off at an orphanage in Genoa, Nevada. Thus, ended my years of youthful innocence and adolescent optimism, but thank God, there were better days ahead.

The orphanage in Genoa was a sprawling three story affair with a bathhouse, a kitchen, a massive dining room, and several dozen tiny rooms, each boasting one window. It was constructed originally by several well-to-do townsfolk who envisioned the monstrosity as a vacation destination. Of course, there were not sufficient people for miles around to fill the place. They believed, if they built it, they’d come. They didn’t, and it eventually became an orphanage.

Each room, when stretched to capacity, held two or three orphans. My roommate was Cynthia. Cynthia was a petite, towheaded little princess, who immediately beguiled every soul she met, until they became better acquainted. Cynthia was batshit crazy!

Cynthia didn’t care particularly for anyone, but for some inconceivable reason, Cynthia took an immediate liking to me. So, we became roommates. Occasionally, we were served meals in our rooms. On such occasions most everyone received a knife, a fork, and a spoon. Cynthia and I received only spoons. On the occasion that Cynthia acquired a knife, or anything sharp, she invariably threw it like a dagger at the door. Needless to say, the maintenance man took a dim view of this behavior.

Most orphans who had proven themselves responsible enjoyed the privilege of a lamp or candle in their room. Our room remained dark. On the lamentable occasions when Cynthia was able to acquire matches, she invariably lit something on fire. Several years later, Henry had need to verify his date of birth, which we believed to be May 6, 1868, around the same time as mine. This proved impossible to verify, because none of his records had survived the conflagration. Cynthia had burned much of the orphanage to the ground. Cynthia goes off halfcocked about every twenty minutes; I love her like a sister, but it takes a terrible toll on a body’s nerves.

So, as the story goes, there’s this old farmer. He goes into this store searching for something for anxiety. His nerves are clearly shot! While paying for his merchandise, his hands are shaking until he’s just barely able to count out his change. About then, this woman at a display behind him, bumps a supporting can in a pyramid display of cans. Those cans come down in a crash and clatter that would startle the feathers off a wooden Indian!

This poor old fellow is instantly on top of the counter! The clerk assists him down and asks what in the world is wrong. “Well,” the farmer explains, staring at the floor and shaking his head dejectedly, “It’s my wife; she thinks she’s a chicken! She clucks and fluffs and scratches. It’s beginning to take a toll!” The clerk is horrified and clearly sympathetic. “Well,” he suggests, “why don’t you just get rid of her?” “It’s not that easy.” The farmer explains. “I don’t know how we’d survive without the eggs.”

That’s kind of how I am with Cynthia. At this point, I rely heavily on our friendship.

One Friday morning, the facility received a new boy. One wing of the institution housed boys, the other wing, girls. This policy was strictly enforced, for the most part. We all became acquainted while in the dining room for meals. Henry was French Canadian. While on a trek from Quebec and the Great Lakes region, to points north, Henry’s parents had taken ill and passed away. Henry was around my age, taller than average, easily tanned, thin as a rail, and he spoke softly, with a delightful French accent. There was reason to believe he had Indian ancestry.

I’d love to share the heartwarming account of a shy boy, warming gradually to a bashful, teenage girl. That didn’t happen. To everyone’s amusement, on the very first moment that Henry lay eyes on me, we spied each other instantly as he entered the dining room. Both of us fought the inclination to look immediately away. Instead, Henry never took his eyes off mine. He made a beeline across the entire dining room, tipping over several chairs in the process, took me in his arms for an uncomfortably long embrace, stared with startling tenderness and moist eyes into the very depths of my soul, and then found us a seat together at the table. From that moment on, except during long nights confined to our rooms, Henry and I were inseparable.

Copyright ©

Shannon T. Casebeer

The Journal of Johann Georg Kasebier

• The following is primarily the work of Reba Munger Kemery. Having purchased Ms. Kemery's book, Casebeer's in America, I painstakingly pecked this information into my laptop and posted it several years ago. From that time to this it has appeared on numerous sites. Our thanks to Cousin Reba for her years of research and dedicated efforts.
• 
  
• NOTE: The copy I originally transcribed is easily identifiable by the journal entry dated the 25th and 26th. In the original translation one word is illegible and is so noted in Reba's book. In my version I took the liberty of inserting the word leviathan. SC
• Shannon T, Casebeer
• 
  
• The Journal of Johann Georg Kasebier
• PROLOGUE
• Johann Georg Kasebier (1693 to 1724)
• Johann was born in 1693 to Christoph II and Margretha (Kuhn) Kasebier in Kuhnau, a village in the princedom Anhalt Dessau, which is now a suburb of the city of Dessau in the political division of sachsen-Anhalt, East Germany. Johann's father was a tailor by trade. Johann married Maria Elisabetha Mathes in 1714 or 1715, probably in Schwartzenau, Germany. Schwartzenau itself is in an isolated small quaint village, with very few (if any) historical buildings now standing. The village is situated in a grassy pastoral area on the Eder River, which is in the northeast corner of the principality of Sayn-Wittgenstein. One of Johann's brothers, Christian Andreas Kasebier, was an early outlaw of the family, and was an infamous and evidently very successful and reportedly charming thief. Andreas was also an Intelligence Operative for King Frederick II of Prussia prior to his eventual escape and disappearance.
• Sayn-Wittgenstein is located east of the Rhine Valley, and northwest of the Grand-Duchy of Hesse. Today nothing in the village appears to be more than one or two hundred years old. The old cemetery where Kasebier family members may have been buried has been removed, and now a hospital is situated on the site. The people of Schwartzenau were very religious during the 1700's, and many of the villagers – including the Kasebier family – belonged to the Church of the Brethern. Unfortunately that particular religion was not the "popular" religion during the 1700's, and the members were persecuted for their beliefs. The church's founder, Alexander Mack, gathered together his followers – including the Kasebier family – and took them to America. Permission to leave Wittgenstein was given to Johann by Count and the original document still survives. (See manumission)
• Johann, along with his wife and their sons Gottfried and Gottlieb, arrived in America at the Port of Philadelphia on October 29th, 1724. After arriving in America Johann and his family proceeded on to the Village of Roxborough, Pennsylvania. Unfortunately Johann died less than two months after his arrival. Even though Johann's death occurred so soon after his arrival in America his name would not be forgotten. Johann kept a journal of the ship's passing and sent it to the Count of Sayn-Wittgenstein. The Count placed the original in the Castle archives, and a translation by Durnbaugh follows.
• 
  
• JOURNAL
• This is a translation of Johann Kasebier's account of his voyage from Germany to Pennsylvania, in 1724,
• As presented to the Count:
• 
  
• Gracious Count and Lord:
• I report herewith to Your Grace that we departed from Rotterdam on August 3rd, left from Helfor Schleis to cross the sea to England on August 14th, at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and arrived off Dover at about 10 or 11 o'clock on the afternoon of August 15th. Of the 170 people aboard, only a few were not violently seasick. We remained off Dover for eight days and had continuously strong winds so that many became sick from the great rocking. Two small children from the Palatine group and an unmarried man died. We stayed so long off Dover because they loaded still more provisions, and inspected the commercial goods and put them through customs, though none of the passengers had to take his goods through customs no matter how much commercial goods he might have had. This has certainly not happened before to any other ship, though there was a great deal of goods among the passengers – at least 100,000 sewing needles, not to mention other things.
• From Dover, we went back along the coast to Tihlen because of the heavy winds. The captain feared that the wind might snap the anchor rope and drive the ship up on a sandbar. It took a long time in Tihlen and no one was allowed to go ashore as had been the case in Dover because they said that the King had forbidden it. The Palatines became very indignant at the captain for this and suspected him of having contrived this in the city. They wanted to make a complaint against him, but it was not done because they could not go ashore. As he gave them very poor victuals, they suffered considerably.
• We departed from Tihlen on September 6th and had a rather favorable wind for sailing. Soon, however, it shifted so that it came directly against us, and they had to tack continually until toward the evening of the 9th when the northeast wind arose. Then we sailed very rapidly. We went past a tower, which is built in the ocean four hours from land on a small, round rock. A family lives on it who have to make a light in the evenings after sunset so that the sailors see it and do not sail into the rock
• At 5 o'clock early Sunday morning, the 10th, we left land behind us with an especially favorable wind. During the night of Sunday to Monday a young unmarried woman who had had seasickness died. She had been bled by an English doctor who opened such a large hole in her vein that it burst during the second night. She bled severely and died the following night. She was wrapped in a cloth, stones were tied to her feet, and she was cast overboard from a plank in the morning.
• On the 11th we had a good wind and on the 12th also. Toward evening we saw entire schools of large fish close to the ship. We had seen them already at Rotterdam, but not so close to the ship. When they show themselves, a strong wind is generally to be expected.
• On the 13th we had a strong wind and sailed eight English miles in one hour. Six English miles make one German mile. From coast to coast there are 1,100 or eleven hundred German hours according to the sailors' reckoning. If, however, the distance is reckoned which is traveled along the English coast and the similar distance up the river in Pennsylvania, then there are thirty-four hours in England and fifty hours in Pennsylvania, which makes eleven hundred and eighty-four hours from the first departure in England.
• My wife and Sauer were very ill, although at time worse than others. When she was unable to eat, it so happened that a bird, which was tired from flying over the ocean, landed on the ship. The Palatines chased it over the ship for a long time. It ran past me and I seized it by its long legs. In this way I got a roast fowl for my sick wife. I cannot describe how sick you get if you are sick at sea. Although I experienced it but little, it greatly weakened the constitution.
• On the 14th we had a mild southeast wind and very pleasant weather along with it. We sailed three or four English miles per hour. Toward evening, however, we got a strong south wind, which lasted all night, and we sailed eight and nine E. M. per hour. During the night two small children of the Palatines died, and were buried as described above. Toward evening of the 15th the wind shifted to the west and we got a strong contrary wind. Nevertheless, in these five days at sea, we had sailed more than two hundred hours.
• On the 16th my wife was deathly sick the whole night and thought she would die. God, however, heard the prayer and, suddenly, her illness subsided.
• On the 17th , still a strong west wind. On the 18th, still strong gales, but it seemed as if it would become better. We were driven far to the north by it. On the 19th, the contrary wind still continued with considerable waves on the ocean, until about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. We met then a ship from the West Indies. It's captain spoke with our captain in English. One minute before they spoke the wind shifted to the north, and we sailed more comfortably.
• On the 20th, the same wind. Sauer and my wife were still sick. I cannot describe how difficult it is for both sick and healthy when there are contrary winds at sea. Even if there is still something to cook and great care is taken, the rocking of the ship can spill it in an instant. When the most skillful thinks that he is standing on one side of the ship, lo and behold, he fids himself on his behind on the other side of the ship. I fell myself very little, whether standing, sitting, or lying.
• The victuals on board the ship after we put to sea included meat, which had been in barrels for six or seven years and had returned from the East Indies, peas and barley cooked in putrid water, and butter and Dutch cheese, which was best.
• On the 21st, considerable wind. On the 22nd, toward evening we sailed rather fast, but we got a gale wind at midnight, which continued, on the 23rd. During the night of the 24th, an unmarried woman who had fallen into the ships hold with an iron kettle of soup about four weeks before, died. She lay sick about fourteen days, then got up again, but several days later she took to her bed once more and died. She was sent to the bottom with coal tied to her feet.
• 
  
• On the 25th, a north wind and comfortable sailing. On the 26th, in the evening when it was dark we saw a terribly large fish. As it sped through the water it looked to us as if it were a "leviathan" and it spouted water with its' nose.
• 
  
• On the 27th we had an east wind, but very mild and good weather. On the 28th a north wind, but we did not sail fast. On the 29th we had clear weather and a good wind. On the 30th clear weather and an east wind. On October 1st we had clear weather with a south wind and saw a large school of fish which leaped from the water like a heard of swine. On October 2nd we had a warm day – it hardly gets this warm in your summers _ and the ocean was completely calm. On the 3rd we had directly contrary winds, but we tacked ahead. Very far away to the south we saw a ship, which was the third that we had seen so far. During the night of the 3rd to the 4th we got a strong north wind, which was rather good for us. A man from among the Palatines, who had severe nose bleeding but had not lain sick very long, died and was buried as the others had been. On the 4th the wind shifted northeast and we sailed eight E. M. in one hour. We saw fish, which flew a bit above the water like a swallow. They had four wings; the front ones were exactly like swallow wings, but the back ones were much shorter.
• On the 5th we had a strong west wind and sailed rapidly, but toward evening came a west wind. On the 6th we still had a west wind, which was almost like a storm. On the 7th it continued until toward evening, then it shifted to the southwest. On the 8th we also had a contrary wind. On the 9th and 10th, -----? before noon. In the afternoon we got a north wind and sailed eight E. M. in one hour. During the night of the 9th to the 10th, an old unmarried Swiss, who had been ill for three or four weeks, died, was placed in an old sack, and sunk.
• On the 11th the weather was fair, and we also had a favorable wind. We saw a school of medium-sized fish hopping along the water like mice because a fish of prey could be seen chasing them. On the 12th we had a south wind in the afternoon, but it developed into quite a storm. In the afternoon, it shifted suddenly to the north. We also saw a stoop and spoke with it.
• On the 13th the same wind, but more favorable. On the 14th east wind and warm weather, also on the 15th. On the 16th also warm and gentle east wind. Toward noon, however, it shifted and came from the south and continued through the night until 4 o'clock in the morning. On the 17th a storm from the north. We gathered much rainwater in our great scarcity of water, as it was a heavy rainstorm.
• On the 18th a mild west wind. On the 19th a mild southwest wind, but during the night it shifted to the east and blew so strongly that we sailed 153 E. M. in twenty-four hours on the 20th. On the 21st, 154 E. M. with the same wind. On the 22nd, still east wind, favorable for us.
• On the 23rd, a northwest wind, but not strong. On the 24th still a north wind. We saw land birds and from this we noticed that we were not far from land. Also, great flocks of wild ducks. In the evening at 7 o'clock we sounded bottom. 
• On the 25th toward evening we approached land, which is called South Island (Suder Eyhland). It was twenty-two hours to the south on our left. That same evening and night we sailed along its' coast quite a distance. On the morning of the 26th we again got a good wind which drove us ahead so strongly that by the evening at dusk we reached the mouth of the river which leads inland to Philadelphia. However, the captain sailed too far from shore, and the terribly large and heavily laden ship ran onto a sandbar. The ship took a great jolt and then another. We all thought the ship had burst open.
• This lasted for more than a quarter of an hour as if the ship were scraping over sharp rocks. The earnest prayers and cries to God in the highest, which were uttered in the open air, were indescribable. We had thought that we had evaded all danger, but God showed us that he could bring ruin to us and our property close to land as well. Yes, my legs shook so that I could hardly stand, but in my heart I heard a voice saying that there was no danger. I called upon his mercy that he might spare us, and he heard it and helped. When we had sailed away from the sandbar a distance, they cast anchor and remained there over night. If there had been a strong wind, however, the ship would have been smashed to pieces.
• On the 27th the sailors began their game, for they had a custom that whoever had not traveled on the river had to donate a quantity of brandy. All of the crew who had not yet traveled on it gave something except one Scotchman who could not pay. He was tied, hauled a good twelve feet high with a ship's pulley, and suddenly released so that he fell head over heels into the water. This was done three times, and the first time a shot was fired. When they had finished with the crew, then it was the turn of the Palatines. They all gave something. If someone refused they set about tying him until he promised to give something. About 9 o'clock we took on board two pilots, one from Loisztaun and the other from Philadelphia. They had to guide the ship in the river. It was full of sandbars, but they knew the river. On the 28th we sailed up the river and arrived at Philadelphia safely on the noon of the 29th. Twenty shots were fired. It is a beautiful town because all the streets are laid out at right angles. Many say that there are at least two thousand houses there. The ship lay for three more days in the river.
• We disembarked on November 2nd, but did not receive our things until November 3rd. On the 4th, one of the Brethern of the congregation (Tauffer Gemeinde) Gumrie by name took us into his home in heartfelt love and evidenced brotherly love to us with plenty to eat and drink, and also a place to sleep to this hour. He wants to shelter us until we find a place somewhere else. John Henry Traut from Germantown, another of the Brethern, hauled our things a distance of four hours to this place without taking pay. (This is written about me and Nicholas for Sauer lives in Germantown.)
• As far as this country is concerned, it is a precious land with the finest wheat, as well as unusual corn, fine broom corn, maize, and white beets of such a quality as I never saw in Germany, not to speak of that which I have not yet seen. There are apples in great quantities from trees which grow wild without being grafted, so delicate to look at that I have not seen the like in Germany. I saw in Germantown so many spoiled apples in various piles in a garden that a wagon loaded with them could not be budged by four horses. Many trees are full of hanging apples, which are frozen, because there is a shortage of workers.
• A reaper earns a florin a day in the summer plus "wedding meals" along with it, and the work is not nearly so hard as in Germany. A day laborer earns ordinarily a half florin in the winter, and twenty alben in the summer. Food is cheap compared to Germany. The freedom of the inhabitants is indescribable. They let their sows, cows, and horses run without a keeper.
• The man in our house came to this country in 1719 and did not bring much with him. Now he has property worth at least one thousand florins, three horses, cows and sheep, hens and sows. (He slaughtered three of the last today, which were as big as donkeys.) There are more people like him who came here in 1719 and now have properties worth two to three thousand florins, and livestock in quantity.
• The trees, which grow in the forest, are cedar, two kinds of nut trees, chestnut, and many young oaks. They are, however, so easily cleared that it is hard to believe. Deer, rabbits
• (But not so many of these two as the others), pheasants, wild partridge, and pigeons are plentiful, and all can be shot without limit.
• One can, to be sure, obtain land in the city, which is more expensive. Ten or twelve hours distant from the city it is much cheaper. Whoever is willing to work can become rich in a short time through God's blessing. Goods, however, which can be brought from Germany, are expensive. For example, gunpowder, for one pound, one florin; a thousand sewing needles, nine, ten, or eleven kopfstuck. Silk and lace are four times as expensive, also shoe nails and other nails.
• Tailors, smiths, and shoemakers, also weavers, are the best-paid artisans. It costs ten florins in the city for a dress; in the country, six florins and twenty alben. A pair of men's shoes costs seven kopfstuck. It is possible, though, to earn enough, if one just has a will to work. A day laborer does not like to take on two days' work, but rather for a quarter of a year or half a year. I now close, and commend Your Grace, the Count, to the protection of the Most High, and remain, Your Grace, with warm greetings for all the servants, your dear friend, Johann Georg Kasebier
• I ask Your Grace, the Count, to deal paternally in your country, so that God may deal paternally with you.
• Ps, I would like to remind Your Grace if someone wishes to come and appeals for a travel subsidy in order to come to this country that you would "open your hand" and share with him according to your ability. People who are willing to work can thus be helped in truth. God is indeed a rewarder of all goodness.
• Something else remarkable has come to my mind, that the day in summer here is two hours shorter, and in winter two hours longer, and also that it is so safe from thieves here it is not necessary to lock the door at night. My host told me that they often all went away from the house and had often left it unlocked.
• There are horses here in great numbers. Some have one hundred, some have sixty, some have thirty. They are all English riding horses. The women here ride sidesaddle, unlike a man, and also small boys.
• There is so much that could be written that it is impossible to write everything. Today we saw more than ten wild partridges in the field of our host, but we could not get to them to shoot because they were wary from much shooting.
• Closing note from Maria Elisabetha Kasebier
• After this letter was written my dear husband became ill. He still went threshing for a day with Nicholas despite it. The illness grew worse so that he could not do it the next day. He had chills and fever, and this lasted at least eight days. After this the fever prevailed, and my dear husband became delirious. He kept on working until the illness became so bad that he could not walk anymore. He lay in bed for five weeks, having to be lifted and carried, and died on December 19th, 1724.
• Children of Johann & Maria (Mathes) Kasebier include
• Gottfried Christian Kasebier
• Gottlieb Christian Kasebier
• Gottfried Kasebier, a.k.a. Godfrey was born around 1718 probably in Wittgenstein, Germany. Godfrey left Germany via Rotterdam on August 3rd, 1724, with his parents and his brother Gottlieb, and arrived at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania on October 29th, 1724.
• Godfrey would have been no more than five or six years old when he and his younger brother accompanied their family to America. Within two months of their arrival Godfrey's father fell ill and passed away. Finding herself hard pressed to provide for herself and her two young sons, Maria Kasebier married Andreas Bossart, and this union produced three additional children.
• 
  
• Parents:
• Spouse:
• Maria Elisabeth Mathes
• Children:

1. Christian Gottfried Casebeer (1718 - 1774)

Far be it from me to fault Twain.

Far be it from me to fault Mr. Twain, with one notable exception; Twain said God created man because he was disappointed in monkeys, and quite certain it's the other way around. SC

Clara's Best should be available in the very near future. And then, what larks!

 

Here's what I've learned from 70 plus years of faith...

Faith is not the expectation that you will receive everything you ask for. Faith is a state of mind that allows you to find peace, reconciliation, and contentment when you do not. Faith is an achieved state of mind that allows one to temper their desire for everything they want, with the understanding that they are frequently better off without it. Faith is a sense of wellbeing which soothes our ache to be loved, with the heartwarming conviction that we are. It’s a small voice deep in our heart that reassures us that the sense of wellbeing we experienced in our mother’s womb is not lost forever when we enter this world but multiplied exponentially when we enter the next.

When those about us languish in a sullen sea of doubt, and the whole world seems in anguish, and hope, nowhere about; its then faith burns most brightly with conviction’s brilliant glow, while fears retreat contritely, vanquished by the confidence we know. For our hope is not in inner strength, nor conceit at honors won; our valor not doomed to fail at length; our victory not contingent on what we’ve done. Our joy is not reliant on some gallantry we’ve shown. We’ve no need to be compliant to some distant impropriety we’ve known. For our strength is in humility, not some valiant course we’ve trod, but in simply doing justly, loving mercy, serving God.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

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Clara's Best is chockful of all the joys, sorrows, achievements and heart wrenching hardships that confronted America's early immigrants. I'm confident you'll find this read heartwarming and enlightening. S. T. Casebeer

Here is the working cover for Clara's Best. Lord willing, with some assistance, I will self-publish this historical novel in the near future. Based on the life of my great grandma, Clara Stancil, it is my tribute to her and the many other pioneer women who settled the frontier and the American West. While I myself was well acquainted with my great grandma Clara, much of the information contained in this tale is the result of time I spent with Clara's daughter (my mom's mom) Ivy Stancil Daniels. The account begins with the early trials and tribulations of Clara's mom and dad, Mariah and Lidge Kinnie, shortly before and after their arrival in San Francisco, from Ireland, in 1850. I've taken great pains to pen an historically accurate account of Clara's life and times. As such, this narrative is chockful of all the joys, sorrows, achievements and heart wrenching hardships that confronted America's early immigrants. I'm confident you'll find this read heartwarming and enlightening. 

S. T. Casebeer 

A government of, by and for a people, unified by their diverse faiths and their mutual pursuit of liberty and justice for all.

 We hear a good deal of talk today about taking America back and making this country great again. Let’s assume this rhetoric implies a rededication to the ideals for which America is best known and respected at home and around the world. What then is the source of that greatness? What then are those ideals? One of the most emblematic symbols of America and her greatness is the Statue of Liberty and the iconic words engraved within her pedestal: "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me; I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" The American ideals of equality, liberty and inclusiveness are at the very heart of America’s true identity and greatness. They are why America became and continues to be a beacon of freedom and justice around the world. We are a country of immigrants. Regardless of whether our families arrived in this country during colonial times or more recently, our ancestors were immigrants. The United States of America is the result of people from all around the world who risked everything in pursuit of a dream summed up quite well in America’s Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” From 1776 until today, American ideals of freedom and opportunity have been personified by our elected leaders, but America’s greatness today and throughout the ages is not the result of elected leaders, but our citizens, common men and women who cherish America’s time-honored principles and dedicate their efforts and their lives to the preservation and advancement of those ideals. Our challenge today is not a belligerent taking back of those ideals, but a rededication to the sharing, promotion and advancement of those ideals for all our citizens. Our challenge today is in many ways identical to that which confronted our country when President Lincoln closed his second inaugural address with the following words: “With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have born the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” America’s greatness is now and has always been the result of our citizens and the principles of Liberty, Equality and Justice as contained in America’s time-honored historical documents and the speeches of our most celebrated statesmen. In November of 1863, President Lincoln addressed those assembled for the dedication of the Gettysburg National Cemetery. According to the President, those whose souls had hallowed that ground had given their lives that the nation itself might life. And he entreated the people to dedicate themselves to the great task before them, that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. That’s a compelling idea: a democratic government, of, by and for a people, unified by their diverse faiths and their mutual pursuit of liberty and justice for all. That’s a proposition worth dying for. That’s why America is great.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer

Or this?

 

Is this cover better in brown?

 

Coming in a limited quantity in the fall of 2025, "Clara's Best", in paperback. Tell our friends!

CLARA’S BEST

INTRODUCTION

The following novel, while historical fiction, is, for the most part, historically accurate. It chronicles the trials and tribulations of my Irish ancestors as told in the words of my great-grandmother, Clara Kinnie Stancil. It encompasses the years from 1850 until the early years of the 1940s. While told with deep sincerity and an eye for humor, it shares, in occasionally painful detail, Clara’s most personal account of her own experiences and our country’s many successes and frequent failures. As such it is, on occasion, deadly serious. I relate it here as faithfully as I’m able and just as it was told to me by my grandmother, Clara’s daughter, Ivy.

PROLOGUE

Ireland was all stony pastures and craggy bluffs and smelled of sea breeze and heather. So said Mither. Then came the famine. Volumes galore have been previously penned chronicling the devastating potato famine that scattered the clans of Ireland. I’ll not prolong the misery with my words.

In the summer of 1850, while the earthly remains of her mom and dad were still leaching into the rocky ground of their beloved Emerald Isle, my mither, Mariah, 15 years of age at the time, along with dozens of other bereft and grieving orphans were loaded onto sailing ships, much like unwanted cargo, and shoved off for the storied shores of America. Most sailed with little more than the tattered garments of their youth which eventually served for many as their shrouds. Fortunately for Mariah, arrangements had been made.

 

S. T. Casebeer

 

THE HANGTOWN TRILOGY, CLARA'S BEST, Episode Thirty-five

A MOMENT’S HESITATION

In May of 1938, Henry and I each turned 70. Quite an achievement, if I do say so myself. I look at least 70. And I feel at least 70. And I darned sure act at least 70. But It’s still mighty hard to believe that I’m 70! Ralph and Sylvia haven’t aged a day. Oops! I mean Cynthia. One weekend, Ralph and Cynthia surprised us with a birthday extravaganza! They’d arranged a room for all four of us at Camp Richardson at Tahoe, following a sunset dinner cruise on a sternwheeler.

Bright and early one afternoon, around three o’clock, we all boarded the Packard and headed for the lake. None of us had ever been aboard a steamboat. She was a dandy vessel! We strolled the decks feeling quite Twainesque. We took a tour of the boiler room and then stood at the stern, listening to the gentle chugging of the engine and refreshing ourselves in the spray from the churning paddlewheel. She did a wide lap around Emerald Bay and then chugged a tighter circle around the Island and the elegant tea house.

Dinner was served on the upper deck, under the starry sky. We arrived early to be certain of getting a good table. To Henry’s delight, this evening’s menu featured the Hangtown Fry. We enjoyed a bottle of wine, not expensive, but more than adequate, and then settled in to admire the view and prepare our growling stomachs for a treat.

While awaiting our meal, we gathered at the railing and marveled at Tahoe and the majestic snowcapped Sierras. And, high on the mountainside, Ralph pointed out the snow-filled, cross-shaped crevasse known as Tallac, which, In the Washoe dialect, means big mountain. As the sun slipped silently into a crimson haze, the moon began a leisurely climb into a cloudless sky.

Peering over the railing, Cynthia marveled at the clarity of the water and the dizzying twenty-five-foot drop. Tahoe’s frigid snowmelt is renowned for creating a clarity of water which allows a glimpse of the stony bottom to a depth of thirty feet. As we gazed down from the top deck, the distance to the water, and the depth we could see into the water, combined to make it seem like we were flying! Beneath us a procession of gigantic granite boulders passed by as if on parade, occasionally looming up from the depths until it seemed as though they’d surely bump the boat.

Once we were some distance out on the lake, they shut down the engine, so that the steamer drifted motionless in the moonlight. The wind, which had been significant much of the afternoon, became dead calm, and the surface was still as glass. The majestic snowcapped Sierra’s glimmered in the dusk, and the velvet black water cast a perfect mirror image of the moon and its shimmering light.

Between our table and the railing was another table, with a young couple and three children. We briefly exchanged pleasantries as they took their seats. The mother and father sat with their backs to us, with the children across the table against the railing. The boys were quiet and went largely unnoticed. The little girl was probably four years old. She was extravagantly dressed in a frilly white frock. Her shoulder length hair was red as roses and all done up in ringlets. And her eyes were a dazzling green. Cynthia was immediately smitten!

While we ate, Cynthia and the little redhead flirted. The Hangtown Fry was scrumptious, although I have to admit to picking out my oysters. Ralph eyed them admiringly until I offered them to him. The girl’s mother sat directly between her and Cynthia, so, periodically the little child would pop up so that Cynthia could see her, and then she’d grin and giggle and plop back down.

During the evening, this behavior became routine. Eventually the father became a little annoyed. On several occasions he asked her to please sit still. Just as our desserts were being served. The little redhead, having popped up several times unnoticed by Cynthia, craned her neck and stood straight up in her seat. The chair tipped back against the railing, and the little girl went head over heels and disappeared over the side.

We all sat speechless for a second, until we heard the splash, and then the mother let out a lion-like scream and we all jumped up and rushed to the railing. The little sweetheart floated momentarily, face up and eyes wide open, just below the surface, and then spiraled slowly downward into the depths.

Horrified as we were, no one in their right mind would consider jumping overboard from this height. Enter Cynthia. Without a moment’s hesitation, Cynthia sprang up on the railing, kicked off her shoes, tore away her favorite dress, and performed a dive that would have made Johnny Weissmuller proud! She entered the water without the slightest splash and disappeared immediately into the darkness.

Seconds passed while we all stood dumfounded and speechless, peering into the moonlit depths, and then, suddenly, here the two came, streaking for the surface amidst a mass of bubbles. By this time, several men on the lower deck had donned lifejackets and leapt into the water. By the time we’d managed the stairs and assembled near the gangway, they were bringing Cynthia and the little girl aboard. Both were blue-lipped and shivering, but otherwise unscathed.

The tiny, towel-wrapped bundle was passed tenderly to her mother, and Ralph held Cynthia close and wrapped her in a blanket. Before rejoining his family, the girl’s father approached me with tears of gratitude streaming down his face. I introduced Ralph as Cynthia’s husband. The father ignored Ralph’s offer of a handshake, insisting instead on a hug. “I commend you on your choice of wives, Sir.” He told Ralph, patting him affectionately on the back, and Ralph sleeve-groomed his teary cheeks and beamed with pride.  SC

TOGETHER, WE CAN DO THIS.

 Shannon Thomas Casebeer

Welcome, fellow lifeforms from all around the world. Make yourself at home. May God Bless us, each and every one, and grant us peace. SC

According to www.iAsk.Ai - Ask AI: Who is Shannon Thomas Casebeer?

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Shannon Thomas Casebeer is an American author born in Placerville, California, in 1951, whose writings often explore themes of liberty, faith, heritage, and personal reflection.[1][2][3]

According to www.iAsk.Ai - Ask AI:

His ancestry includes the Daniels family, who arrived in Massachusetts Bay in 1636, the Camp family in Connecticut in 1640, and the Casebeer (Kasebier) family in Philadelphia in 1724, with descendants from each branch serving in the Revolutionary War.[1] Casebeer's work, such as "Glad Days Long Ago," published by Ozark Breezes in 2018, is described as a fictional parable with autobiographical elements, focusing on youth, innocence, and nostalgia.[2][4] He frequently shares his perspectives on American ideals, the importance of civic participation, and his Christian faith through his blog, where he discusses topics like freedom, justice, and the separation of church and state.[1][3] He currently resides in the Ozarks, Missouri, which he considers his home, though he maintains a deep connection to the High Sierras where he spent his youth.[1][3]