If you look to the left, you will see a new selection has been added to the menu. "the death of ellie clausen". If you click on the link, you will be taken to a page that provides links to all of the Ellie Clausen stories in a single location. Hope that helps.
Tim
As time goes by and the number of stories surrounding the death of Ellie Clausen continues to grow, I thought a single place that links to all of the stories might be useful. Here are all of the stories, starting at the beginning:
Jeanne liked Beatrice Miller. She was her favorite niece and everybody called her Bea. The young woman was good company and good help. She had been staying the week and helping her aunt Jeanne with the late summer canning. Today had been applesauce and green beans. Yesterday was the last of the ripe tomatoes. While the jars cooled, the two talked and knitted socks. Bea was full of the news of friends and family.
There were new babies. The Harpers had a new buggy they had bought in Columbus. Columbus! More than three days ride. Jeanne had always wanted to visit Columbus, the state capitol. Dayton was the biggest city that she had ever seen and Columbus was almost unimaginable.
As Bea chatted away, Jeanne's hands flew. The needles clicked quietly as the sock grew in length. This was a fine way to spend the afternoon. Her chores were much more enjoyable with good company. As the time flew by, Jeanne learned that the Methodist church had decided to finish their bell tower with a tall steeple. Evidently, the money to finish the construction was being donated by Emmet Durney, a man that Jeanne did not know. The Clausons were Episcopalians and did not attend the same church.
"Bea, who is this young man? What do you know of him? I do not know the family."
"He is a farmer like Papa. His parents, the Durney's have a large farm out towards Huber. Papa says that they have almost two thousand acres. Can you imagine?"
"That is a lot of land. I don't know that we would know how to work it. I think that I like our farm just the size that it is."
"Auntie, they have paid families that help them to work the farm. I think they must be rich. Emmet must have his own too. Wealthy enough that he provided the money to finish two other projects as well. A new window in the vestibule and benches in the choir loft. And auntie Jeanne, he is handsome and has pretty blue eyes!"
Jeanne laughed, did her niece feel some tenderness for the man? When Jeanne asked, the child blushed crimson and smiled. Jeanne knew most of the influential families in the area. Why was she not familiar with the young man?
"Young Mr. Emmet has his own farm?"
"Oh yes, he bought it after he returned from the war. I think you know of the place. Along the national road outside of Donnelsville, the farm lane has two large cedars near the road.
Jeanne knew the farm but did not know that it had recently changed hands. The old man that lived there had passed away two years past. She supposed that his wife must have moved in with family and had decided to sell the farm.
"The war has been over for six years now. Has Mr. Durney been living with his parents since his return?"
"Oh no ma'am, he only returned in March of last year and bought the farm straight away. Some say that he tarried in Atlanta and Chattanooga after the war. I can not imagine why. I would turn my horse to ruin trying to get home. I would miss Mama and Papa far too much to linger."
With that said, Jeanne looked at the watch pinned to her apron and stood up. Placing her unfinished sock in a basket along with the yarn, Jeanne turned towards the pantry.
"That will have to be the last of young Mr. Emmet Durney for today, child. It is time that we started the biscuits for dinner. Your uncle will be hungry when he brings the horses in. Will you fetch Stella from the barn while I get things started? Bring in milk and butter from the spring house on your way back."
As her niece closed the door behind her, Jeanne forgot about Emmet Durney and started to gather flour, bowls and her rolling pin. There was work to do.
I would like to thank you for reading along as my imagination creates the story surrounding the death of Ellie Clauson. Thank you for your support, encouragement and kind comments. You can find the previous parts of the stories here in chronological order (not the order that I wrote and posted them):
This image pretty well sums up my first two weeks on the new job. I have been absorbing as much as I can and processing what I have learned. I think that I am going to love my new work home. The people are fantastic and they are dedicated to helping others.
Having never had a marketing professional on staff, they have accidently stumbled into some good ideas but have also established some bad habits. The challenge is huge and I am excited about tackling the problems and stearing them into the right direction.
Experience so far? Wonderful!
When I first took this shot, I liked the contrast between the bright color of the mushroom and the dark surroundings. It was not until after I got home that I noticed a smaller mushroom was being sheltered underneath the larger one. I write "smaller", but the largest is only about an inch tall.
It's nice to find an unexpected surprise in your pictures.
If you have ever lived in the US for an extened period of time, you probably know that labor Day weekend is the official close of the summer grilling season. That is not to say that we won't fire up the grill a few more times before winter sets in. Any back yard BBQ from here on out is considered post season play.
I didn't grill anything over the holiday weekend, but my Friend Jim and I did run into another kind of grill and I thought you might enjoy a few shots.
Enjoy your Thursday Folks. The weekend is only a day away.
At the turn of the twentieth century, famed Chicago architect, Louis Sullivan, designed a series of banks in the midwest. Collectively known as jewel box banks because of their beauty, they are all still standing and even better, one is not far from my home. Located in Sidney Ohio, the Peoples Federal Savings and Loan Association bank was built in 1919.
Never heard of Louis Sullivan? He was the inventor of the modern day sky scraper and mentor to Frank Lloyd Wright. I know you have heard of him.
As a marketing element for a church, I am not so sure that this sign is very effective. I can't imagine that anybody driving along the road is going to look at this message and think to themselves; "You know, that looks like a nice friendly place to worship. I think I'll stop in and check them out."
It's never a good idea to threaten your target audience, implied or otherwise. People just don't react well when suddenly confronted with eternal damnation while driving along the road. Offer them solutions to the problems and choices that they face everyday. Provide them with a sense of support and community and you might see better results. Just cool it on the fire and brimstone. You might want me to be prepared to meet my God, but, to be honest with a message like this, I am certain that I don't want to meet yours.
I'm also intrigued by the obvious corrections that have been made to the sign. I wonder what kind of typos were present. At one time was I supposed to be prepared to "meat" my God?
What is with the Ye and Thy? Last time that I checked my calendar, this was not 1762. Address your potential members in a language that makes them comfortable. If people think you are out of touch with the times, they are not going to take you seriously.
Lastly, ditch the red and go for a calmer, more comforting color. I would suggest repainting the entire sign and starting over from scratch. Pick a cool green, blue, or dark gray on a neutral background. Change your message to something that will attract instead of repel those that read your sign. A nice sanserif typeface would be reassuring and welcoming. Provide the times of worship as well as a phone number that can be used to get further information.
In short… you need to be better prepared!
Mary Waithe sat down and held the letter in her grasp and looked at the heavy wax seal. The ivory linen paper trembled slightly as her excitement got the best of her. She had not heard head nor tail from her brother in over a month and she had been frightfully worried that something terrible had befallen him. What foolishness had driven him to join St. Claire in the wilderness of Ohio? Home and safe was where he belonged, not tramping around in the forests chasing Little Turtle and his band of savages.
William's early missives overflowed with excitement as he anticipated the adventure ahead of him. He would spend his ink and paper describing the men that had joined them. Admiration and expectation had clearly been upon his mind.
His last post had been more down to earth as if the varnish of his new life had begun to wear thin with the exhaustion brought on by endless treks, hard labour and boredom. Mary's heart wanted to beg him to come home, while her hand had written words of encouragement. Perhaps this letter would bring better news. Could she hope that he had come to his senses and had decided to return home?
Fort Jefferson, Ohio
November 6th, 1791
My dearest sister,
I received your letter of the 14th of October and have read it many times this day. Until tonight, I have not had the opportunity to return your warm and encouraging words as we have been unable to make Fort Jefferson until yesterday evening. I know that you are near death with worry from my imposed silence and would remove that fear immediately. I am well enough given the disastrous turn that our fortunes have taken. I assure you that I am well, though you will suffer for hearing our tale.
After much delay and desertion our army was encamped upon the Wabash river in the Ohio territory on the third of this month. Throughout the evening we had glimpses of the Miamee and Shawnee that have been harassing us since we left Fort Washington. The savages have been devilishly sly and refused to give battle, instead using ambuscade to bleed us as would leaches on an infected wound.
We were in the midst of breaking fast on the morning of the 4th when Little Turtle's men finally decided to stand and fight, attacking us with more than a thousand men. Our pickets were overwhelmed in an instant and the whooping, screaming devils were amongst us before we could prepare a defense. Those worthless cowards of the Kentucky militia fled instantly, while Genl St Clair struggled to rally the rest of us. That worthy leader would have three horses shot out from beneath him before we would quit the pasture that had been a quiet camp the night before. I cannot allow my thoughts to dwell on the wretched dead and wounded that we left lying for the not so tender mercies of our enemies. Those deamons pursued us hotly for many hours until turning back to begin the molestation of our unfortunate brothers.
Of our force of more than one thousand, we now number scantly more than two hundred souls. Less than a handful can be counted as unscathed. I must confess that I am bandaged about the head. Do not worry as I have suffered more at your own hands while pinching a cookie from your dish. I fear that I cannot offer good news of young John Miles as none have had any view of him since breakfast of that calamitous morning. I fear that he is lost and know that his mother and sisters will suffer greatly at this news.
We expect to return to Fort Washington soon and from there to be disbanded. With the strength of our Lord at my side, I shall be home before the new year.
As ever your devoted brother,
William
The ink stained letter sliped from her hand to the table as Mary's limp form slumped in her chair. Though her dear brother William would be home soon, the details surrounding the news was too much for her to take in and she became overwhelmed by emotions. Mary would spend the following day abed before strength would return to her limbs once more.
tim mcmurdo 