cacakerbamakhlukpolitik

The Frederick Bechstein House 1733 Wabash Street, Detroit This is the house I live in. It was built at the end of the Civil War, and two additions have been built since. I've been learning as much as I can about its history since I moved in, and learning how to find this information as I go. The first several posts in this blog will cover pretty much everything I know about it. This week's post covers the history of the land on which it was built. * * * * * When Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac founded Fort Pontchartrain du Détroit in 1701, he was permitted to grant land concessions to other settlers in the name of the King of France. After he was relieved of command of the settlement in 1711, it was not clear whether subsequent commandants had the same authority. King Louis XV settled the matter by a decree dated May 19, 1722 which authorized the Governor General and Intendant of New France to make land concessions at Detroit (Farmer 18). The grantees were required to sett

Headstone of Rev. McKennan, Red Clay Creek Church Being right in the middle of the holiday season, it seems appropriate to do a post now about a religious figure, so I've picked the one whose name is probably most familiar to area residents -- Reverend William McKennan. He was mentioned before in the post about the McKennan-Klair House , which he occupied for over forty years, but now we'll look a bit closer at one of the most influential and long-tenured men to ever preach in Mill Creek Hundred. William McKennan was born in 1719 in the north of Ireland of Scotch-Irish descent, much like many of his future congregants. When exactly he emigrated to America seems to be in question. Some sources cite 1730, but I'm inclined to think 1750 is more likely, since there seems to be no record of him here before then. Actually, there doesn't seem to be much information about his early life at all, until he became a Presbyterian minister sometime before May 1752. The Presbyterian

If you are an Eleanor of Aquitaine admirer, as I am, or simply a fan of strong women in medieval times, this book, by E.L. Konigsberg, is for you. Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine, became Queen of France when she married Louis VII (The Pious), but she bore no male heirs. One day Eleanor went from prayers in the chapel with Louis out to her garden, where she took one look at young, handsome Henry Plantagenet and subsequently wangled a divorce from Louis. Shortly thereafter came a formal invitation into Henry's bed as Queen of England. Eleanor bore many illustrious children, including Richard the Lionhearted and (later) John, who "inherited" Ireland, became king after Richard, and signed the Magna Carta. While still married to Louis, Eleanor satisfied her taste for culture and luxury by going on crusade with her husband to Constantinople and beyond. She was indefatigable and later, at age 84, the queen crossed the Pyrenees to secure a bride for her son Richard. Eleanor, tog

We hope everyone is having a merry holiday season! The Hoydens will be taking a break through New Years, but we'll see you in 2011 with lots of new books and new historical tidbits. And yes, that's a tree dressed as a giant Christmas Pudding .

An English Christmas conjures up all sorts of images: mulled cider and carols, candle-decked trees and frost-laced windows. You've got to hand it to the Victorians, they knew how to do Christmas well. Or, as that ultimate Victorian of the Victorians, Charles Dickens put it, "and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge". This, however, poses a slight problem for those of us who dwell (metaphorically, at least) in those eras prior to the introduction of the Victorian English Christmas. My latest book, The Mischief of the Mistletoe, was set in Bath in 1803. As you've probably deduced from the title, it is a Christmas book. This meant a fair amount of scrounging around to try to figure out exactly how Jane Austen would have celebrated Christmas. (I'd like to say that was also meant metaphorically, but, since Jane Austen was coopted for a cameo in the book, I really did need to know how she woul

 Old Stone Hotel, shortly before demolition, c.1972  With the network of roads, turnpikes, and waterways present in Mill Creek Hundred, it's not surprising that there were a number of inns, taverns, and hotels that operated here throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. They were usually located either along a major route for travellers in the midst of their journey, or at a destination for those who had reached the end of their trek. One place, though, fit the bill for both -- Stanton. Therefore, it makes sense that there was a hotel located here, in what was the first, and at one point the largest, community in the hundred. Stanton, originally known by the indelicate name of Cuckoldstown (the speculation as to why will have to wait for another day), sits right near the confluence of the Red Clay and White Clay Creeks, and was the site of one of the earliest mills in the area. More mills soon followed, with commerce spurred on by the fact that in Colonial and early Federal times,

Today is the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. I’d like to salute winter with a good drink, or chase the chill out of my bones in a time-honored fashion. Yes, I do like to know exactly what my characters ate so I can imagine the tastes and the scents. George Washington and Robert E. Lee both enjoyed eggnog , a delightful concoction of eggs, cream, and brandy. (Or eggs, cream, brandy, whiskey, and sherry, in Washington’s case.) Or, from my grandmother… Three dozen eggs, three pounds of sugar, half a gallon of brandy, half a pint of French brandy, half a gallon of milk. Beat the yolks and whites separately. Stir the sugar thoroughly into the yolks, add the brandy slowly so as to cook the eggs, then add the milk, and lastly the whites, with cinnamon and grated nutmeg, reserving enough for top dressing. I think Dickens and Austen would have enjoyed it. Cavalry punch, as drunk by officers at Fort Laramie and Fort Lincoln, was composed of very

This will be a quick one, (even without pix,which blogger seems to be ignoring today). Because I'm trying to finish up a publishable version for the Journal of Popular Romance Studies of what I spoke about last summer in Belgium: Queer Theory, male/male romance by women for women, and what we can learn from one about the other. With proper academic citations and proof of argument -- which, I find, is particularly challenging as I lack much advanced academic background and as a fiction writer being used to making stuff up. Still, it's been interesting, especially when I try to analyze my friend Ann Herendeen's bisexual take on Pride and Prejudice , Pride/Prejudice -- and as I trace its roots back to slash fan fiction. I wrote about this sub-genre a while back -- the amazingly popular grouping of do-it-yourself female Star Trek fans, who loved to share their own made-up alternate Universe wherein Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock maintain a hot and also tender erotic relationship.

On November 16, Prince William of Wales announced his engagement to his girlfriend of more than eight years, Catherine (Kate) Middleton. It was the moment that millions had been waiting for with bated breath. Royal-watchers released said breath with a joyful exhalation and then began bloviating about what it all meant (mine to follow); and manufacturers from Stoke-on-Trent to Shanghai released the work orders for the commemorative tchotchkes: the tea towels, plates, thimbles, and spoons, and all manner of junk that in fifty years' time will become treasured scraps of memorabilia. But there is something exciting about a royal wedding, especially this royal wedding. William's parents did not wed in love. On July 29, 1981, when those of us who watched Charles and Diana walk down the aisle of Westminster Abbey, could we have imagined the sorrow that lay ahead and the tragedy that would end Diana's life at the age of 36? William and Kate give us the chance to believe in a royal

 Milk Bottle from Locust Grove Farm  In the last post , we traced the history of the house and property located in what is now the Village of Lindell on Milltown Road, from Andrew Reynolds' building of the house in 1790 and the mill in 1799, through the ownerships of Samuel Anthony and Abraham Cannon, and finally to its purchase by Robert T. Lynam. I don't have the exact date of Lynam's purchase of the property, but we can narrow it down to sometime between 1877 (when the mill was still owned by Cannon) and 1881 (when a map shows Lynam as the owner). Lynam had acquired the property across the road (which would eventually be sold to the state by his grandson for the building of Dickinson High School) in 1848, and may have purchased Cannon's farm with his son Robinson in mind. Unlike the other owners of the tract, the Lynams had no interest in milling, and as Scharf states , Robert Thomas Lynam tore down the old Reynolds mill in 1887. Very interestingly, according to an

I'd be willing to bet that there are few private properties in Mill Creek Hundred that go back as far, and had such a 20th Century impact, as the land around the Reynolds-Lindell House, located in what is now the Village of Lindell on Milltown Road. From its 18th Century beginnings as a milling property, to its 20th Century role as a working dairy farm still remembered by area residents, the land was in constant use for over 200 years. Now, the only reminder of its past is the old house, today nestled in a quiet neighborhood bearing the name of its last working (and current) owners. The identity of the first owners of the land is not clear (although it might have been the Lynams), but by the late 1700's the property was owned by Andrew Reynolds. Presumably it was he who built the main section of the two-story, plastered stone house in 1790. Scharf relates that Reynolds erected his grist mill in 1799, so either there was an earlier mill that it replaced, or the property initial

'Tis the season: things are slowing down at my day job and I finally have the chance (I hope) to catch up on my reading! Nothing beats sitting by the fireplace late at night, reading by the low lights and glow of holiday decorations---my wish list is naturally longer than "War and Peace" but my preference for a good historical tale, romance or otherwise, comes shining through. Here are my top picks this year: 1. Cleopatra, A Life, by Pulitzer Prize winning author, Stacy Schiff. Everything I've heard about this book is spectacular. Move over Philippa Gregory, from the excerpts I've read and the reviews, Ms. Schiff has done for ancient Egypt what Ms. Gregory did for Tudor England. Here's a bit from the New York Times review: "Ms. Schiff waves onto the stage Cleopatra’s Alexandria in all its splendor and beauty: its gleaming marble edifices, the oversize sphinxes and falcons that lined the paths to the city’s Greek temples, the Doric tombs decorated with cr

 Worrell Woolen Mill and House It's kind of funny sometimes when I go to write a post, how much variation there can be in the amount of information I'm able to find about different topics. Sometimes there's so much that it's difficult to pare it down to a blog post sized amount; sometimes there's not much, but enough to tell the story well enough; and sometimes, like with this one, I really wish I could find out more, but it just doesn't seem to be there (at least, not yet). Thomas Worrell (or sometimes incorrectly, Worrall) was a name that I neither knew nor was looking for, before it popped out at me while doing research on another topic. I had remembered seeing the name on the Beers map (although it actually looks to be "T. Werrall" on the map), but I didn't know anything about him or his family, and didn't remember seeing the name come up anywhere else. The only thing I did know was that across from his home along Mill Creek, there was