The moon had risen again, still round and bright, providing just the right ambiance for the wolves to sing by. Their distant howls rent the air and made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. The wind had come around to blow out of the south, bringing with it a warm moist air, but it was from the wrong direction to provide any telltale odors that would give any indication that we were drawing nearer to our quarry. The gusting breezes shook the tree branches making it more difficult to distinguish sounds from one another. Still, there was nothing to do except to put one foot in front of the other and hope that we would not go from being the hunters to the hunted. We were grateful for the night’s deep shadows. Since we suspected we were quite close to Snow Leopard and his group, we evaded the moonlight, slipping from one puddle of darkness to the next. As we came to an open spot in the path, we paused for a drink of water and to rest for a moment. We had not spoken or eaten in some time. Puh broke out his nearly empty food bag and gave Black Wolf and me a little dried meat and a few shelled nuts that he found rolling around at the bottom of the sack. As I ate, I rubbed at my burning eyes; they ached from staring so hard at the darkness and from being awake for so long, but the salt from the sweat on my hands made my eyes burn even more.
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…I could clearly view the huge animal from my vantage point by a large tree. It was snuffling and snorting as it noisily grazed, its tail in constant motion, swishing back and forth in a fruitless attempt to keep the ever-present flies from alighting on its rump. Given that the audible signs of the rhino’s digestion process were clearly heard by all, I did not envy the flies their proximity to the creature’s hind end. Black Wolf seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
“Listen to that!” he quietly exclaimed at yet another burst of flatulence. “I will not be standing at the rear of our intended victim during this hunt! That rhino sounds as though he will be ready to let loose his bowels at any moment!”
We could not restrain small grins at the memory of last winter’s woolly mammoth kill, when poor Black Wolf had been knocked off his feet by a heavy blast of mammoth excrement. Just then, the rhino turned its head and faced in our direction, its enormous forehorn much in evidence.
“By all means, Black Wolf,” Bror whispered, “you are most welcome to the front if you so choose.”
I consider myself to be more of a writer than an artist, so I have been pleasantly surprised at the interest garnered by my books’ illustrations.
It all started when I was a small child. At the time, I was struck with an overpowering urge to put down the stories that were clamoring around in my head, but rather inconveniently, I didn’t actually know how to spell many words. This presented something of a conundrum for a fledgling author. I solved this problem by telling my tales with pictures that were accompanied by succinct captions.
As time passed, my writing progressed through various stages until at long last, it was of sufficient quality to make my living. However, I was left with very little time to indulge in creating artwork. Now that I’m trying to exercise my artistic muscles again, I feel an acute lack of practice! I’m planning to add a few more children’s books to the roster, so it appears I’ll have ample opportunity to brush-up on my artistic skills!
Here is a sampling, including a few of the frontispieces, pictures from the Ice Age Animal Index that appears at the back of each volume in the 8-book series, and several illustrations from thechildren’s book, KAW. (The Header image is also from KAW.)
PS: If you like Dreamer Book’s original artwork, you can find some of it on our Merch! See a selection of tees, hoodies, tote bags, mugs, and more HERE!
Illustration from KAW
Frontispiece from The Cave of Bones (colorized).European cave lion (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Detail from The People of the Wolves frontispiece (colorized)Reindeer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Lynx (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Illustration from KAWRoe deer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Illustration from KAWEurasian wolf (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Woolly mammoth (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Interview with Seth Chagi (World of Paleoanthropology): Additional Commentary
My early childhood home was a traditional New England-style house that was said to have been floated on barrels across Cape Cod Bay in 1780. It boggles the mind to consider how difficult it must have been to keep a very non-aero or hydrodynamically efficient two-story house on course as it made the voyage from Boston to Brewster. I’m sure the rafted structure was towed by a ship, but Holy Heck- that’s a lot of open water! If the wind blew up they might’ve become residents of a completely different town than the one where they had planned to reside.
Upon reaching the beach, they likely used teams of horses and large wooden rollers to bring the home to its final destination, where it still stands. The house was added-on to many times throughout the centuries and the property was made into a working farm. Oh, if only buildings could talk- the stories this house could tell! It was no longer a farm when my family lived there; just rambling old home on a narrow country road. My grandparents and various aunts and uncles lived with us at times, making it was a bright and lively place where we made many happy memories.
Cape Cod television reception was almost nil in those days, so we had to entertain ourselves the old-fashioned way- reading, crafts, playing music, and such. My parents probably thanked goodness that none of us was attempting to learn the bagpipes. Endless renditions of “I love coffee, I love tea” on the piano and “Mary had a little lamb” on the violin were bad enough! (My sister went on to become a very skilled violinist, eventually becoming 2nd violin with the Cape Cod Symphony.)
Some of my earliest memories were of walking in the woods with my father. He was an avid an outdoorsman; people sometimes said that if they ever fetched up on an uninhabited island and had to choose someone to take with them, they would pick him. Walking through any wild habitat with Dad was not at hurried process. We stopped and looked at things. He’d tell me all about them and what they could be used for. He taught me to observe, to listen; to watch the sky and the behavior of the animals around me. I also learned to look at the outdoors as nature’s grocery store. If you knew where to look and what you were looking at, you wouldn’t go hungry. (These days I find myself doing these same things with my grandchildren.)
Photo credit E. A. Meigs
I was an unusual child. I had friends but I often spent time on my own, just wandering the woodlands and marshes that surrounded our home and the nearby beaches. I knew the locations of several springs where I could get a refreshing drink anytime I was thirsty. I built crude little huts, using saplings and thick brush as the basis for my frame and weaving pieces deadwood throughout to make the walls. I often spent time gazing upon nature, mentally taking notes of observations that would later pepper my writings. Even as a youngster, I was already jotting down stories and drawing pictures to illustrate them. I also collected samples during my wanderings. My mother told me that when doing laundry, the pockets of my clothing often revealed unexpected surprises: rocks, pinecones, acorns, feathers, bugs, worms, and other fun finds enlivened an otherwise mundane laundry day.
I was nine or ten years old when I decided to make a tent of sorts from a tarp, using bits of rope, and clothespins, and using sharpened sticks for stakes. I erected this shabby structure on a bit of land just across the stream from our house, where it fit comfortably in a small clearing amid a stand of trees. I borrowed an unused strip of carpet for the floor. Over time, I gradually built up a decent camping kit. Eventually I was given an old but sturdy canvas tent that served me well until a sizeable family of mice set up housekeeping in it while it was packed away for the winter. In the spring I discovered my poor tent had a lot more ventilation than its original design intended. However, by then my afterschool job was paying enough that I could finally purchase a modern nylon tent. Little did I know, this perky blue and yellow 5′ x 7′ pup-tent, my backpack, and assemblage of camping gear would occasionally house and sustain me in the years when I was first out on my own. Rentals could be hard to come by and very expensive, so when I had no place to go, I lived in the woods.
I loved boondocking – that is – just camping in the woods, as opposed to in a campground. In fact, I’m not very fond of campgrounds but I will sometimes stay in them during the off-season. I was fortunate that we had no poisonous snakes or large predators and I could enjoy the wildlife without much concern. The worst thing I might run into was a skunk. Now that I’ve worked for an employer like Fish and Wildlife and seen gruesomely graphic photographs and read the reports of the aftermath of grizzly bear attacks, etc., I am much more aware of the potential hazards. Some folks don’t seem to mind tent camping in bear country, but having seen half-eaten remains, I would only do it in a hard-sided RV. Motivated bears can get into almost anything, but at least an RV gives you a chance to start up the engine and drive away and thus oblige them to run for their dinner.
And that’s it for this entry. I’ll be adding more blogs to go with the Story of Us! podcast.
Be sure to check out World of Paleoanthropology for interviews, articles, book reviews, and much more! It is a veritable goldmine of paleoanthropological information!
To learn more about Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga check out these pages!
Dreamer Literary Productions is pleased to announce that The Dreamer VII ~ The Challenge Circle is now officially released, in Ebook, paperback, and hardcover formats!
The epic Ice Age adventure continues with this latest installment. Did you ever wonder what life was like for those who walked the Earth before us? Dreamer Books opens a literary portal to life during the last Glacial Maximum, what with all its challenges and drama, while simultaneously instilling an enduring sense of wonder at the resiliency and resourcefulness of our ancestors. The ongoing story celebrates the human spirit, and illustrates however much the settings may differ, people have little changed over the eons.
Seven years ago, my imagination opened a portal to an ancient landscape. Layers of time peeled away, and I was thrust into the consciousness of one who had lived in a time and place now lost to memory. This Neanderthal man and the epic adventures that make up his life’s story may be fictional, but as I write his experiences it feels as though I am recording actual history, rather than composing a literary work. Bringing to life the peoples and cultures of Ice Age Eurasia has enthralled and inspired me, and I can’t help but think I will miss being immersed in their world when the series is complete.
(Header image credits: book cover photo by Paula Kugerud Photography, Venus figurine pendant and lithics by Neanderthal Joe. Header photo and blog photo by E. A. Meigs)
Our scallop boat, referred to as a dragger, the Kathy Dick.
It’s 4AM and I’m standing on a dock. Harborside lights illuminate the crystal-clear water, where I can see small bait fish flit about, while a crab scuttles to hide in the shadows. At that moment, I am less interested in marine life than I am the depth of the water. I know we need at least a half-tide to make it over the creeping sandbars that continually infiltrate the channel. Many a morning was spent peering into the depths, awaiting the moment when we could depart.
My Dad was a commercial sea scallop fisherman. His boat was a thirty-foot long wooden dragger, built in 1931. She was a modest working vessel, with the well-worn, slightly dingy look that typified most fishing boats. A symphony of aromas accompanied her wherever she went: a pungent mixture of old fish, diesel exhaust, and paint. Her pilot house was outfitted with a compass, fathometer, VHF radio, and wind-up clock. Down below and forward, an old-fashioned cast iron stove, fold-down table/pantry, and a berth made for a cozy little cabin. A large coffee can served as the head (toilet) for anyone who did not wish to make their deposit over the gun’ale.
I accompanied Dad on these outings whenever possible. As a kid raised in a semi-famous “Sea Captain Town”, it was almost impossible to avoid at least some familiarity with the nautical world, but my childhood was well-steeped in it. And I was hooked from the start. I loved everything to do with boats and being on the water. Dad usually fished alone unless accompanied by a family member or friend, so when I was first invited to go out scalloping at age eight (after pleading to be allowed to go for some time), I was thrilled. The hours were long, but as a “day boat” that returned to harbor by nightfall, the trips were less onerous than those of bigger off-shore boats.
We left as soon as the tide permitted and I made bacon and eggs for our breakfast while we steamed to the grounds. The stove was probably intended to be fueled with wood, but as I recall, we most often used cans of ethanol gel for cooking. The stovetop had a clamp system called fiddles that kept pots and pans from suddenly levitating or taking flight across the cabin while we were underway. The fiddles also allowed the cook to use both hands when tending food, and sometimes, to brace against the carnival ride-like motion of the boat.
Painting the dragger’s bottom before the tide comes in!
Later, fortified by a hearty breakfast and still plunging along, we washed the dishes. The plates and silverware were washed in the shucking box, but most of our dinnerware had holes in it, so the skillet, ironstone coffee mugs, and spatula had a line run through the holes and after being tied-off, were thrown over the side to be scrubbed as we forged ahead to our destination. Following a period of being subjected to a saltwater-and-sand scouring, we hauled back on the rope and the sparkling-clean items were dried and stowed.
Sea scalloping involves towing a drag across the ocean floor in strategic areas. With luck, you will have found a few good scallop beds, and if you’re careful not to overfish them, you can alternate between these beds indefinitely. After the drag comes up, its contents are dumped onto the deck and the pile is culled for scallops, which are then shucked while the drag is returned to the water. This cycle of drag down/drag up goes on all day, but we must stop in time to steam back to the harbor to catch the evening tide.
Days worked on the water are unlike any day on land. It is almost as though you have been transported to another world. Time moves at its own speed, measured by the cadence of the waves, and the duration of each tow along the seafloor. On pleasant days, the breeze whispers softly in rigging and the moist salt air refreshes the skin. That said, there were many bitter cold days when the biting wind caused what we called “wind burn” and I envied my father his beard!
I was scalloping with Dad on a winter’s day when the snow began to fall fast and thick. The seas were relatively calm, but it was quite cold. As mentioned before, Dad had a full beard, and it was coated with frost, his mustache edged with icicles. The snow stuck to us as we worked, until we more closely resembled a pair of Yetis than a couple of humans. I may have been twelve or thirteen years old at the time, but I still vividly recall how thoroughly chilled I was, especially considering it was difficult to do that kind of work while wearing gloves. I knew Dad had to be cold as well.
“Dad,” I said, having had an epiphany, “Do you want a cup of hot chocolate?”
Dad and me (age 8), shucking scallops.
He answered with a decisive affirmative, so I was down below in a flash to boil water. These days, when I make hot chocolate, I cook it on the stovetop from individual ingredients. This was just instant cocoa, but the ironstone mugs made wonderful hand-warmers and it felt so luxurious to sip the piping-hot beverage as I thawed my fingers. There’s a great sense of camaraderie that comes from standing together on a gently heaving deck, listening to the engine labor as the boat leads the drag on yet another pass, silently enjoying a simple cup of cocoa. The drag would be hauled up shortly, but this few minutes’ respite was priceless as snow swirled around us; no one else was in sight – we were just two people on a little boat as it plowed across a vast expanse of green water.
Some part of me will always be a fisherman’s daughter: the kid who drew pictures of fishing boats in art class, while the other kids drew horses, cars, and houses; the kid who went to school with dried scallop guts and blood on my oil skins (raincoat).
I haven’t worked in the fishing industry for many years now, but it was an important part of my upbringing and it made my living for some decades. I am past the point in life where I would want to return to that occupation, but I still wax nostalgic on occasion for the smell of the ocean and freedom of riding the waves. I hope I have passed on this affinity to my children, who were exposed the ocean and boats literally from the time they were babies.
It was my fate that I should be drawn to two very different worlds: the call of the sea and the grounding effect of living a terrestrial life. And I harbor a deep and abiding love for both.
This plaque was mounted on a bulkhead in the dragger’s forward cabin.
Commercial fishing and working in boat yards has also influenced my writing, especially as it pertains to my current book series. Not only because I worked almost exclusively with men, but because of the insights gained from working with men who labored in one of the most physical and dangerous occupations known. Surely, our early ancestors would have shared at least some of their views on the pursuit of prey (whether fish, fowl, or mammal) and the risks involved with the less-than certain lifestyle, and empathized with the discomforts that come with exposure to the elements, no matter what form they may take. All such challenges are timeless.
My nephew wrote this about Dad: I can remember many times seeing him hanging upside down into the engine compartment battling with some rusty thing or other that wasn't cooperating, monkey climbing partway up the mast or rigging to untangle some unfortunate and uncooperative line that got tangled...
In this case, the phrase Contact Us is a misnomer. As of now, there is no Us, only me. Researching, writing, publishing, and promoting a Paleofiction book series is a huge undertaking, but I am delighted to be on this journey!
So, if you have any questions about Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga series, how to purchase the books (especially if you are seeking to make a wholesale purchase, or you live outside of the continental United States and need special shipping rates), please feel free to drop a line.
Also, I welcome opportunities to do interviews and give educational talks about life during the last Ice Age, early humans, and nature and Natural History. Please let me know if you would like to discuss scheduling an interview or event.
Click>>> Contact: most queries are answered within 24 hours.
Neanderthal Joe very kindly invited me to speak with him on his podcast recently. I am always delighted to have an opportunity to talk with Neanderthal Joe, and talk about my favorite subjects: history (especially as it pertains to natural history), paleoanthropology, and my books - which delve into both topics! It's a lot to cover in an hour, and afterward, I always think of something I should have added or how I could have made my point a bit more clearly, but I really hope everyone enjoys our chat. Thanks for listening!
Just in case you missed it, the latest installment in the Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga series was released earlier this summer!
The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders continues the ongoing adventure, as narrated by Tris, a young Neanderthal man. Tris's thoughtful and sometimes droll perspective brings to life the struggles of ancient humans as they fight to survive in a hostile world.
All Dreamer Books are available in hardcover, paperback, and eBook formats. Click (below) to visit storefront page.
Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga announces a new series! Previously, Dreamer Books has been known for publishing full-length Paleo-Fiction, but now children can venture back to the last Ice Age with KAW, the first installment of a companion series written especially for youngsters. These short stories are designed to entertain and educate, as children get to know Fox and share his journey of discovery as he learns about the prehistoric world he calls home.
Find KAW at Children's Books, where you can also see some of the illustrations and a few sample pages.
KAW, the first in a series of children’s books about a prehistoric boy named Fox, is one step closer to publication! The digital files are now in the hands of the printer. I should receive the digital proofs in a few days, after which I can either make revisions or order a hard copy proof to make one final check for errors. I’m really excited to be so close to releasing this book!
Anthony Yocolano, host of the Neanderthal Mind Podcast, very kindly invited me to join him for an impromptu chat, during which we discuss a number of topics, including the many aspects of my life experiences that have contributed toward producing a historical fiction book series, the recent release of my latest book, The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders, the next book in the series, The Dreamer VII ~ The Challenge Circle, and upcoming publication of my first children’s book, Kaw, which is due for release later this year. We also discuss how the series is researched and our shared hope that more resources will eventually become open access, and future plans for both my adult and children’s book series.
The realm of Paleoanthropology is a relatively small one, therefore those of us immersed in this field often know one another, at least by name. I have followed many such experts over the decades, but it’s not often you find one who not only delves into the science, but also explores the practicalities and skills needed by early humans as they struggled to survive in a harsh world.
Mousterian blade on a centripetal core.
For the last ten years, Neanderthal Joe (AKA, Joe Lawlor) has made a study of the Neanderthal. During this time, Neanderthal Joe has put his knowledge to good use and taught himself how to knap stone, haft knapped stone to spears shafts and handles, made useable items from animal pelts and hides, created Venus figurines, made cordage, glues, distilled birch bark tar and oil, practiced several methods of making fire, and much, much more – all using authentic primitive tools and techniques. Neanderthal Joe’s works have found homes with collectors all over the world. Some of his lithics can be seen on display on display atthe Etta C. Ross Memorial Library Museum in Blue Earth, MN.
Neanderthal tools racloir, hand-axe, Levallois core. (Made from cobble of Georgetown flint by Neanderthal Joe.)Mousterian blades, Joe’s replica (r) compared to an authentic Mousterian blade (l) made by a Neanderthal 60-70 thousand years ago.
Neanderthal Joe shares his passion for learning about our ancient ancestors with his followers. (A list of his platforms will be included at the end of this post.) You can watch some of his many YouTube videos (below), to get an idea of the scope of his work.
Video showcasing a Neanderthal tool kit.
Neanderthal Joe’s “Venus of Antler River”.
Spears made by Neanderthal Joe.
Venus figurine.
Again, these images and videos give just an inkling of Neanderthal Joe’s body of work and he is constantly adding to this impressive portfolio. If you are interested in ancient life skills and paleoanthropology, check out his platforms; he provides valuable insight into the lives of our ancestors.
It’s always gratifying to receive a reader review of my books, but especially so when the reviewer has Neanderthal Joe’s level of expertise on the Neanderthal and the details of their lives. A while ago, Neanderthal Joe very generously submitted a review of my first three books. (When I wrote to say thank you, I took the opportunity to ask his permission to do a blog about him and he kindly agreed!) I had to edit his review to fit into the Reader Review page format, so here it is, in it’s entirety.
As someone that struggles at keeping focus while reading, this series has been an absolute trip! I knew it was a great series when I finished the first book in 3 days (something that is rare for me); the entire time I was reading book one I was “on my toes” excited for the next page and the next chapter, the characters are very likeable and are very relatable. The story is captivating and keeps the reader drawn in, the story is not the typical point A to point B story it is a well thought out TRUE ice age adventure! When I come home from work instead of settling down and hopping on a game or mindlessly watching tv I now open a new chapter from the book anticipating where the adventures of Tris, Black Wolf and Tor goes. I am very excited to see where the wonderful author takes the series and will continue to read. Thank you for making a beautifully crafted story with elements from the real world. While reading you can picture the characters on their journey and that is better than any tv show or movie.
If a real world Neanderthal recommends this series that should be the sign that you should check it out from Neanderthal Joe!
Anthony Yocolano, host of the Neanderthal Mind, interviews author E. A. Meigs once again. Listen as they discuss Meigs’s Ice Age-themed book series, and the background research and personal life experiences that add layers of realism to the saga. Also discussed are assessing research sources for finding the best and most current information, and the probable social constructs of Neanderthal society. I hope you enjoy the show!
So, you might ask, how does one start writing a historical fiction book series? Where does one gain knowledge and insight sufficient to breathe life into an ancient world, a world whose inhabitants have long-since perished? Speaking for myself, it has been a lengthy and convoluted –but never boring– journey!
The writing bug bit early. It wasn’t a dainty nibble, but rather a hearty chomp. As my childhood years flew by, I filled notebook after notebook. After landing my first job, the earnings went toward the purchase of a cheap manual typewriter. There was no gentle tippity-tappity to get a legible font; this machine required the kind of vigorous finger-strokes needed to play Rachmaninoff’s 3rd Piano Concerto. Nevertheless, I pounded out my first full-length (and very silly) 300+ page novel at the age of ten.
Discovering the World of Natural History
My working career began (outside of working with my Dad on his commercial fishing boat) at the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History. It was my great good fortune to be employed there for four years. I worked with noted naturalists such as John Hay, Robert Finch, Robert Prescott, and Donald Schall. My title was “Girl Friday“, which meant that I did whatever was needed at the moment. I swept floors, tended various resident animals on the grounds (such as a one-winged Great Horned Owl), assisted with field work, or shelved returned books in their library. I had a strong interest in science and natural history, and luckily for me, the museum staff were more than willing to share their knowledge.
(Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Learning More About the Outdoors
I had lots of woodlands, marshes, and beaches to explore. A little creek ran past our house and a foot bridge (um…well…a plank) gave us access to a verdant glen hidden amongst the trees. There, I would erect a tent from whatever materials I could find, in which I spent the night whenever the weather (and my parents) allowed. I use the term “tent” loosely. It was a drop-cloth strung up between trees with an old carpet underneath. It was scarcely weatherproof, and certainly not bug-proof. But that was no concern to me; all I cared was that I could stay outside. Later, I was gifted an old canvas tent that appeared to have been last used during World War II. It was a bit musty, but I was very glad to have it; it was a vast improvement over my improvised shelters.
I have always enjoyed camping. As a young adult, whenever I was in-between rentals I would just camp in the forest until my next lease started. It could be chilly at times, but thankfully, my father had brought me up to be comfortable in the woods. Living out of a backpack never posed a problem.
(Image Credit: E. A. Meigs
Boats, Boatyards, and Commercial Fishing
I aspired to be a naturalist, like those I knew at the Museum. But however appealing the study of nature, I didn’t think I could make a living at it. After graduation, I went on to have a nautical career. As the daughter of a commercial fisherman/backyard boatbuilder, for me, this was a obvious choice, but it sometimes presented a bit of a puzzlement to others. Feminism was in its infancy in those days, making me somewhat of a curiosity. I was often the only woman onboard, or at the work site. I didn’t try to be one of the guys or compete with them. In fact, although I was very strong for a five-foot tall female (they sometimes called me Mighty-Mite), I knew I could not match their size and strength.
I was grateful not to be asked, for example, to load a battered 55 gallon drum onto the back of a truck. My burly co-worker gamely stepped up to the drum and embraced it as a wrestler would his opponent. Following a breathless struggle, he finally placed the dented and rusted receptacle on the truck’s bed while the owner of the drum looked on, nodding with satisfaction. It was only after the task was completed when it was revealed that the drum was filled with chunks of lead. Another time, I saw one of the guys pick up two two-hundred pound mushroom moorings by the shank, and walk away with them as though they were a pair of suitcases.
(Image Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Working in a Man’s World
I had already amassed more than a decade of pertinent experience when I started working in boatyards. But as low man on the totem pole, I was assigned some of the worst jobs. When they needed someone to crawl around in a tight bilge, up into a forepeak, or down a cramped lazarette, as the smallest, I was the one tapped. If you think they were giving me crappy jobs because I was female, rest assured my male contemporaries were given assignments equally as bad.
One boatyard’s sail loft was located up a very old and creaky flight of stairs, and the loft’s doorway was a mere 5 feet high and just over a foot wide. Guess who got to retrieve all the sails? While I fit through the doorway just fine, the sail bags were usually a lot larger than the door’s opening, so shoving them through was quite a process. Once I managed to accomplish this, there was nothing to stop the sail bags from tumbling down the rickety stairs, thundering and shaking the stairway as they went, looking like an enraged elephant seal charging down a steep beach.
On the job: sanding brightwork, under the supervision of my old dog, Sugar.
All in all, I enjoyed laboring alongside my coworkers. Over the years maybe one or two of the guys were somewhat hostile, but most were quite pleasant. People not acquainted with commercial fishermen and boatyard workers might think them a bit rough around the edges, but I generally found them to be pretty easy to get along with. They were salt of the earth folks; they may not have been “pinkies up” kind of guys, but they were funny and caring, and I considered them to be friends.
Marriage
I married while still in my early twenties and gave birth to two daughters. I was a content to be a wife and mother, and I thoroughly enjoyed my children and all the things that came with domestic life. We lived on a small homestead complete with goats, chickens, honey bees, and large gardens. After the marriage broke up, I was forced to support my household and return to the work I knew…and paid the bills. So, it was back to working on boats.
Starting a New Chapter
By the time I was nearing 40 years old, the heavy toil was taking a toll on my physique. So, I began to look for alternate means to make a living. I was excited to find a job managing a shipping department; oh joy, to be clean and warm and dry! But I soon discovered that 95% of the shipped product was cut slate – ROCKS! So much for light work! But at least the boxes of rocks were marginally lighter than the loads I routinely carried in the fishing industry. That said, I still needed to segue to a career that didn’t potentially include a hernia.
On the job: Fish & Wildlife (Image credit: E. A. Meigs)
Fish & Wildlife and Forestry
As time went on, I found employment in a small field office for Fish and Wildlife. As with the staff at the Museum of Natural History, the wildlife biologists were generous with their knowledge. In addition to my usual duties logging check station data from the hunts, handling Management Area purchase orders for everything from copy paper to heavy equipment, and other mundane tasks, I also occasionally accompanied biologists on controlled burns and field work.
I spent a year as a resident employee at a State Park, as well; another wonderful experience! My dog Sam and I hiked the trails every day, often waking up the deer as we trekked along at sunrise. Most animals are not keen about people – and dogs, even less so, but I reveled in the fleeting glimpses of these creatures.
Daily hike with Sam. (Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Early one morning, Sam and I spied a black furry butt sticking out of the brush up ahead. We stopped in our tracks. I said to Sam, “Well, that’s either a bear or a hog.” At that, the animal backed out of the foliage. It was still a distance away, but I could see by its ears that it was a wild hog. A large one. Hogs usually run away, but this one stood his ground. I have seen what wild hogs can do to a dog (and humans, for that matter) so Sam and I changed direction. While I enjoy seeing wildlife, I realize it is important to give them lots of space. I have no doubt there were countless times when Sam and I were in close proximity to animals we never saw, because they had the good sense to move off without giving themselves away.
(Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Becoming a writer.
Eventually, I found work writing and editing. Also, I put in a few years as managing editor for an academic journal. I learned a lot about the publishing business, how books are laid-out, and I was finally able to use my love of words in my profession.
It had always been my goal to find a way to combine my love of nature/writing/history, but I never planned to write a book series chronicling the adventures of a Neanderthal man.
I later recounted this information to a friend. After a brief pause during which she looked me up and down, she said, “Was there a picture of you in that article?” No, but there may as well have been. More recent discoveries have found that they had a wider variety of hair, eye, and skin coloring, and some were in fact a bit taller, but from that time on, I must admit I felt an affinity for the Neanderthal.
Illustration from The Dreamer III ~ The People of the Wolves (Image credit: E. A. Meigs)
The Dreamer Book Series
Fast-forward a number of years to a February morning in 2015, when I woke up with The Dreamer in my head. Like all my novels, I had no idea where the plot came from, it just suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Initially, I didn’t know it would be a series. As the writing progressed, I soon realized the story needed to broken up into multiple volumes. So, onward I forged, pulling Tris’s story out of my brain one tap of the keyboard at a time.
Making Use of a Lifetime’s Experiences
Finally, much of the “useless” historical, zoological, anthropological, wilderness survival, etc., data gathering dust in my head can be utilized! Some of the plots take place around actual historical events and locations, so I did my best to seek out as much information as can be found on these topics. And, of course, I did general research all the time.
Additionally, every now and then I squeeze in an online University course. As ever, I remain hungry to learn more. Not only because of my burning quest for knowledge, but because I want to provide enough layers of depth and realism to make the tales seem plausible for the reader. We may never know what life was really like during the last Ice Age, but it is my hope to offer a literary portal to that perilous – and yet magnificent – juncture in time.
Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
Dreamer Books 1 -5. Book 6, The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders is due to be released in the summer of 2021. (Header & graphics by E. A. Meigs, cover photos by Paula Krugerud.)
After completing Archeoastronomy last year, I promised myself I would take a break…but here I go again with Forensic Anthropology (Princeton Online).
As a writer of historical fiction, I have been able to indulge my passion for science and history. In the study of prehistory, we are heavily dependent on science to help us delve into the mysteries of the past. Due to the fact that much of what we know about ancient life is gained through examining and interpreting clues found in fossilized bones, it is important to understand what may be gleaned from those valuable artifacts. Therefore, I have completed Osteoarcheology, and now I tackle Forensic Anthropology.
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BTW, my copy editor has returned The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders manuscript and I have already begun the final rounds of editing. The production schedule is still on time for a Summer 2021 release!
“The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders” is now in the hands of the copy editor!
The latest installment in the ongoing Ice Age saga is still on-track to be published this summer! Embark on a journey to an ancient land; to a time when life was broken down to its most basic elements and survival depended upon strength of mind and body, and the strength of relationships with those around you.
The Dreamer: Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
