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Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: April & May 1814

Saturday, April 16, 1814

Thistledown Farm

Dear Janetta,

Arthur and Kathleen stopped by today to bring me the contents of Charles’ army chest so that I may choose something to keep for our little one.

There wasn’t much to show for a soldier’s life – just some military clothing,a set of draughts, some letters, a Bible, a small painting of his sister, a pewter cup with his initials, a tortoise shell brush and comb, a clothes brush, his pocket watch, and some fine linen handkerchiefs with his initials. I decided to just take one of the initialed handkerchiefs. I would dearly love to keep the pewter cup or his pocket watch, but that is something his father is surely expecting to be returned. I did go through the stack of letters. My letters to him were all tied with one of my hair ribbons that he managed to wheedle from my possession when we first began to correspond. I kept those and put everything else back in the satchel in which they were delivered.

Arthur went off to find my father and left Kathleen to chat with me. It was awkward. She is terribly shy and everything I asked her she answered in monosyllables. I did gather that her father was hoping her child would be a boy and that he wanted to name the baby after his father, Zebulon. I asked her what name she preferred and all she said was that Arthur wanted the child named after his grandfather, Nicholas. I asked if she liked either name. She just shrugged.

Kathleen looks frail, drawn and extremely frightened of the whole experience. I do not think Arthur ought to have taken her out in the sleigh. Yes, Janetta, we still have snow. We had another thick coat of it yesterday, but I’m sure that this is Mother Nature’s final flurry. I wouldn’t mind if it kept snowing. Constable Breton will be coming to interrogate me as soon as the roads firm up. If I was truly writing to you I would ask you to pray for me, but some things I just cannot bear you to know.

Adeline

Monday, April 26, 1814

Thistledown Farm

Dear Janetta,

Evvy has a suitor. His name is Hector Hamish Hamilton, if you can imagine that!Robert and Hector came by to visit today, under the pretense of visiting Father. Robert spent a few moments with me in the sitting room by the fire, while Father took Hector out to see the new foal and Evvy prepared some refreshments. Robert apologized for imposing which I naturally waved off, but he informed me quietly, that Evvy had evidently made quite an impression on his friend, Mr. Hamilton, who had entreated most pitifully to be taken to visit such a pleasant spoken and sweet-faced girl. Evvy later confided to me that she thought Hector most entertaining, but beyond that she wasn’t persuaded that he was husband material. As she is only turning fifteen this summer, it is unlikely Mr. Hamilton, the clerk of the Forwarders will be the only suitor for her.

Mr. Hamilton, being in the Forwarding trade, had some very interesting information about the British naval blockade of the coast of America. It is causing much distress for the American government which has a big stake in funds it receives from taxing the shipping of goods. Although our boats are still being harassed by Americans on the St. Lawrence, most of our goods are able to get through. The biggest problem now is that the Americans occupy Fort York and have done since July last year. If only the war in Europe were over, perhaps with reinforcements we might prevail.

With hope,

Adeline

Monday, May 16, 1814.

Dear Janetta,

My hand is shaking as I am writing this. Janetta, I have been done a monstrous wrong. I don’t even know where to start, but I must think… It is a true nightmare!

Robert, his mother and father drove over in the wagon on Saturday with the constable from Johnstown. He asked me some questions about Charles and then we drove to Blueberry Creek. As we approached the cabin, we could smell smoke and Robert said that Arthur had likely begun a fire to take the chill off the cabin. Arthur and his wife have been looking after it from time to time.

As we drove through the deep woods trail and into the clearing Charles and William had prepared, we were dumbfounded by the sight of the destruction. Our cosy cabin was no more. All that remained of our dear little home were ashes and half burned logs and the chimney. There was nothing left of the linens I so carefully stitched, the china we had procured, the table that Charlie had made for us or the bed. The lean-to was smoldering. Robert and his father jumped down from the wagon and went over to examine the smoking remains. Constable Ike Breton, got out of the wagon and went to stand next to the two Randalls.

“This is most unfortunate,” the constable stated. I was bewildered and began to stutter. “But Arthur has been watching the property. How did this happen?”

Robert turned and came back to the wagon. He put his hand gently over mine and said, “Perhaps it was a lightning strike. Don’t get down, Adeline. There isn’t anything here now. We should get you back home. This is a terrible shock for you.”

Ike Breton was poking about in the ashes and he walked around the perimeter carefully searching. Suddenly, he called Mr.

Randall over to something he spotted leaning up against a pine.

“What is it?” called Robert.

“The door to the cabin with it’s hinges still attached,” answered Mr. Randall. “There is something scratched in the wood.”

Robert helped me down from the wagon and we both went over to look at the charred wooden door. There scratched deeply into the wood in crude letters were the words : “Yer man, yer home, yer next.”

“I don’t understand, “ I whispered. “What does it mean?”

Robert and the other two men looked at me gravely.

“I think it’s a threat,” answered the constable.

“We’ve got to get you back to your parents,” said Robert grabbing my arm. You are in danger?”

“But, I don’t understand,” I repeated. Rrobert hustled me into the wagon and jumped up himself. The two other men followed suit. Constable Breton spoke to me earnestly. “

“ Widow Houghton, I believe this clears your name. Whoever burned your cabin also killed your husband. He has now threatened your life too. You are in grave danger until we capture this brigand.”

It was then that I began to shiver. Mr. Randall put the warm firm wrap around me.

“Never mind, Adeline. I promise you that we will find Charles’ murderer.” Robert said. “I found a piece of green serge with a brass button when White Wolf and I went searching the first time. I’m sure it’s an American uniform button. We will turn this country topsy turvy searching I promise you. He won’t get away with it.”

I think that is the longest speech I have ever heard from Robert’s lips and it gave me comfort.

So dear friend, I have an enemy, a very dangerous enemy and I admit to being very frightened. Father and Henry keep a weapon at hand and mother won’t let me venture past the well.

Anxiously,

Adeline.

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: March 1814

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: March to April 1814

(a fictional account of the War of 1812 as recorded in Adeline Price’s Journal that she addresses as Janetta in memory of her friend in England)

Thistledown Farm

Sunday, March 13, 1814

Dear Janetta,

The icicles on the eaves are beginning to melt and I am looking forward to the day I can return to Blueberry Creek. William has promised to take me back as soon as he has finished felling the trees he needs to replenish their woodpile, but perhaps I will ask Robert. I know that I will not be settling there until after my little one is born, but I worry about our cabin and wonder if there need to be any repairs. Squirrels may have made nests in the chimney, although Arthur stops by with his wife now and then to warm the place up with a fire. Father suggested that I should rent the cabin to Arthur and stay here for the first year after my baby is born. I know it would be a practical decision, but I can’t bear to think of anyone else living in our home longer than Charles and I did together.

I have been knitting baby things with the lovely wool from my sister-in-law’s family farm. Mother has been working with her spindle and loom since January and Evvy and I have produced warm socks for Father and Henry, mittens and even vests. I have also made a pile of tiny booties, vests and even a wee coat for the baby. Mrs. Randall thinks that the baby will be born in early May. I have a sheep skin to put in the cradle for warmth over the small straw tick and a soft woolen blanket Mother made on the loom. I have talked to Elizabeth’s father about buying a ram and a ewe from him when I move back to Blueberry Creek and he has promised me two of this year’s lambs to raise for that purpose. I shall need to learn how to shear them, but it will be good to know that my baby will have warm clothes. I wonder will he or she have my coppery hair or Charles’ straw coloured curls. I spend many moments dreaming of this.

Mother’s latest letter from home mentioned that you were expecting also, Janetta. I wonder will our children ever meet one day.

Hopefully, Adeline

Saturday, March 19, 1814

Thistledown Farm

Dear Janetta,

Mother’s cat, Aesop, just dropped two mice at my feet. Henry scooped them up by the tails and took them outside for the kittens. Aesop is a great mouser, but not such a thoughtful father. Aesop is our house cat and his mate “Arabelle” lives in the barn with her six kittens. I have my eye on one of the kittens, a pretty marmalade kitty, to take home with me for a house cat. Aesop was one of Mrs. Randall’s cats she sent over a couple of years ago for a pet for Victoria, but he became Mother’s cat when Victoria died. Cats are as necessary here as they are in England. We ‘d get a lot of field mice in our flour and seeds if we didn’t have them.

Pirate doesn’t chase mice, but Henry and Father have been taking him hunting with them and they say that he is learning to flush out the grouse and pheasants even though he is not a bird dog. He sleeps on the floor on my side of the bed every night and growls when the wind or the coyotes howl. He doesn’t leave my side unless Henry whistles for him. Oh how I wish he could speak. I’m sure he saw the coward who killed my husband. I wish I was a man so I could track the villain down.

I am growing larger every day. This little fellow (I am sure its a boy) is very active. Mrs Randall is fairly “flummoxed” as she put it, to see how much the baby had increased. Mother was concerned that I was gaining weight too quickly, and wondered if we should get the doctor at the fort to examine me, but Ann, she insists that I call her by her Christian name now, spluttered that doctors know nothing about birthing, only sawing off limbs and bleeding patients.

Arthur and his wife are going to have a child soon too. Ann has concerns about Kathleen’s health. Kathleen was the youngest of six children, and frankly neglected by her only living parent. Her five brothers got properly spoiled and she grew up to be a live-in servant.

Now, I must crawl into bed. The candle is guttering.

God bless you,

Adeline

Sunday,April 10, 1814

Thistledown Farm

Dear Janetta,

Father got a letter from Constable Isaiah Breton informing him that as I am under suspicion for the murder of my husband, he is required by Magistrate Sherwood to conduct a proper investigation, beginning with my questioning and a trip back to Blueberry Creek Farm to see the lay of the land so that he may “visualize” the crime. Father got angrier with every word and Mother was crying. A nasty shiver went down my spine and I felt immediately ill. Father is wondering if we should hire a solicitor from Kingston, but we don’t have the funds for that. I know, because I am the one who does Father’s accounts. Oh, what a calamity I have visited on my family and tomorrow we bury my dear Charles.

With great sorrow,

Adeline

From Raindrops to Roses

From raindrops to roses,

That’s how nature grows,

So have no impatience

And don’t be morose.

A garden needs planning,

Good soil, tender care.

Raindrops and sunlight

Will all help prepare

The loveliest surprises,

The sweetest bouquet

And soon fragrant roses

Are then on their way.

If you prick your finger

To capture a rose,

It isn’t a nuisance

As you might suppose.

Things that have value,

Those we most desire

Can only be gained

By braving the fire.

Unfolding in beauty

Before your own eyes,

God’s greatest gifts

Often come in disguise.

Push the Creativity Reset Button Every Day

This is a really great morale boost for any artist by Sandy Ackers on her blog “Strangling the Muse”. I really love this blog entry.

Strangling My Muse

Has this ever happened to you? You’re determined to start writing or painting or pursuing another creative passion on a regular basis. So you sit down to treaty negotiations with your Muse, and the two of you draw up a plan: Your Muse agrees to visit you for half an hour before work every day to provide inspiration, and you agree to show up with paper and pen or paints.

The two of you sign and notarize the document, your Muse flits off to study the funky aardvark dance that’s sweeping Madagascar, and you give yourself a celebratory high-five in the mirror before going to bed feeling great.

Things work wonderfully for the first week. You set your alarm early, get up, and write or paint your heart out.

The next Sunday night, your cat has a hairball emergency requiring your middle-of-the-night supervision. Obviously, after all the midnight drama, you’re…

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Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: February 1814

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: February 1814

A fictional account of a young woman’s experiences during the War of 1812.

Thistledown Farm

February 13, 1814

Dear Janetta,

At the end of January Father was summoned to Fort Wellington and told to bring me for an interview with the fort commander. Father told me that he would go alone and speak to the commander on my behalf . I appreciated his desire to shield me from the distress, but I felt that if I did not go myself it it would give a wrong impression. I know that Charles was respected and is greatly missed by his comrades and it wounds me that his friends would think the worst of me. Father and I walked through the barracks to the colonel’s office.

The colonel treated us with great respect. He offered me a chair and asked if I would care for some hot tea. I thanked him and said that tea would be very welcome. My father saluted and stood behind my chair until the colonel gave him leave to sit down as well.

The colonel picked up a letter from his desk and read it aloud. It was from Brigadier General Ambrose Houghton the Third, Charles’ father. The letter was cold and to the point. He and his family were distressed to learn of the death of their youngest son, not to have been killed nobly in battle, but under very suspicious circumstances while on leave from the army. He further stated that although Charles was involved with a woman (myself) and supposedly married, he had married in haste and without the permission of his father. Furthermore, although Charles was the youngest son, he would have come into a sizable inheritance held in trust from his great-uncle which would now be put back into a trust for his older brothers and sister. He concluded his letter by demanding (although that is not how he phrased it) that all of his son’s belongings be shipped back to England and that a thorough investigation into his murder be conducted immediately.

At every line, my dismay grew and, though I tried to hold them back, my tears flowed freely. Was this the letter for which my dear Charles had longed? I wondered how my very thoughtful and loving husband could be the son of someone so very unfeeling.

My father put his arm around me and bid me wipe my tears. I could tell that he was upset from the way that his lip stiffened and his voice deepened as he spoke.

“Am I to understand,Sir, that my daughter’s grief is now suspect? That now my family is to be investigated? What do we know about this man? You know how honourable our family is. My daughter is now a widow.”

“Of course, I don’t believe this, Price. , but this man is influential and my superior in rank. Houghton died under very strange circumstances and I must ask the constable in Johnstown to investigate.”

My knees were shaking as we left the office and I could feel the eyes of the soldiers boring into my back as we walked through the fort gate. Mr. Randall helped me up into the sleigh and we three drove home in silence as the shadows lengthened on the snow.

That night, as I lay in bed next to my sister, I cried and prayed as I never have before.

Your childhood friend,

Adeline

——————————-

Thistledown Farm

February 26, 1814

Dear Janetta,

Many times I have taken up my quill to write and I end up staring at the blank sheet until it disappears before me. The days are galloping by as this tiny being is making his or her self more obvious with small kicks. Mrs. Randall is pleased with the baby’s progress and keeps urging me not to neglect my meals. She needn’t worry as Mother is forever making me small tea trays and when she isn’t then Evvy is.

The war is continually in our minds, although my thoughts are centred mainly on myself these days and my wee bump. It has been quiet on the river and battle of Crysler’s farm was even celebrated at a grand ball in Quebec given by Governor General Prevost so we have been told. I don’t suppose I will ever go to a ball. Somedays when I am very melancholy, I wonder if I will ever be free of the shadows that surround me.

Sadly, Adeline.

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: January 1814

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: January 1814 ©Mollie Pearce McKibbon 2012

Thistledown Farm

January 5, 1814

Dear Janetta,

How differently this year has begun than I imagined. I have been a widow now for two months.Charles and I were looking forward to dancing the New Year in at one of the many fine house parties that are held in Johnstown. We had hoped that the war would be all finished by now, but still it drags on.

The Randalls had their New Year’s Eve party and we all attended it. I didn’t feel very much like celebrating, but Mother said that I needed to be among friends, not sitting alone in the cabin dwelling on my present “situation” as she calls it. She said that I could look after Vicky while Elizabeth and William danced.

I must agree, the outing did pass the time and it was pleasant to listen to the fiddle and tin whistle music. Vicky didn’t require much minding. She slept through the evening and only began fussing just as our midnight lunch was served. I spent my time tapping my foot to the music and accepting the condolences of all our neighbours.

The Randalls have a large stone and log house which they had trimmed with cedar and pine boughs. Their large stone hearth was blazing and a big cast iron pot filled with spiced cider hung over the fire on a hook. At one end of the room was a long table covered with dishes of foodstuffs, some brought by the neighbours and a lot of it made by Mrs. Randall herself. The aroma was enticing.

The fiddler, Mr. McNabb and his tin whistle player, Mr. Byrne were near the fire, while the dancers took the middle of the bare wooden floor. They formed two lines and do-si-doed up and down them. Mother leaned over to me at one point and said, “Thank goodness they haven’t taken up that “waltz step” that my mother wrote about in her letter. She says it is disgraceful and is spreading all over England. “

I was hard pressed to keep from smiling. I expect that one day the waltz will probably be considered old fashioned. Just then Robert appeared at my elbow.

“How are you, Mrs. Houghton,?”I was startled that Robert was being so formal.

“Robert, you’ve known me almost all my life. It is perfectly acceptable that you would address me by my Christian name,” I smiled.

“If you wish, Adeline. I just want to be proper.” he replied. I couldn’t help noticing how he was twisting something in his hands.

He cleared his throat and thrust an object out to me saying, “ I want you to have something for your little one, so I made this for you.”

He dropped a small perfectly formed spoon into my lap. It had a curved handle and was fashioned from hard maple. Then from his pocket, he produced a little wooden bowl. The two objects made an exquisite set. I gazed at them in amazement.

“Robert, how very lovely! Whenever did you have time to do this? How kind you are! Thank you, so much for thinking of me.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. My condition was fairly well-hidden under my loose woolen gown, but it wouldn’t be long before everyone would know.

Robert looked at me in alarm as the tears spilt down my cheeks.

“Oh Adeline, now I’ve made you cry! I am so sorry.” he stammered.

I put my hand out to rest on his arm and assured him that I was just touched by his thoughtfulness. “It doesn’t take much to make me cry these days,” I said, “ Your mother assures me that it is partly my condition. Please, don’t give it another thought.”

Robert got up as my mother returned to the settle. She placed Vickie, now dry and soothed, back into the blankets in the cradle Mrs. Randall had provided for the evening and I gently rocked it with my foot. I thrust Robert’s gifts into my reticule and smiled at him.

Just before midnight everyone was called to the meal table. Evvy brought Mother and I two heaped plates. Everything was delicious. We sat chatting and eating when suddenly, an altercation near the outer door drew our attention. One of the soldiers from Fort Wellington, a big blustery fellow known for his fondness for strong drink was toe to toe with, of all people, Robert Randall. Robert was flushed and his fists were clenched as he raised his voice and demanded that the ruffian leave.

“That’s right then, mate. You would jump to her defence!’ sneered the obviously drunken man. “I think it is damned obvious to the whole army just what happened to him. She shot him in the back!”

Oh Janetta, when I heard those words, I almost fainted. The soldier was talking about Charles and he was…

A horrible hush crept over everyone and I felt as though everyone was looking at me. In truth, no one would look my way.

“Get out of this house!”, growled Robert and he lifted his hand to physically shove the man out the door. This time, Arthur intervened. He grabbed the soldier by the arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Well, now, Pt. Pettigrew is feeling a bit under the weather, aren’t you me lad?” Arthur opened the door and shoved the man outside. Two of the man’s fellow soldiers swiftly followed him carrying the man’s heavy coat but as they left, he was heard to shout, “Murderer, that’s what she is!”

Immediately, my father came to me with William and Elizabeth. My mother was as pale as the linen on the table. My head began to swim and I must have fallen because the next thing I knew mother was fanning me and Mrs. Randall was offering me a sip of brandy.

I asked to be taken home and as swiftly as possible and so we quickly assembled our belongings and left with apologies to the Randalls.

With anguish,

Adeline.

Thistledown Farm

January 21, 1814

Dear Janetta,

It has been quite a while since I last picked up my quill to write in this journal. Mother has been keeping me very busy sewing baby things and mending the family work clothes. I think she has been attempting to distract my thoughts from my sorrow and my dismay. As I mentioned, some of the soldiers at Fort Wellington and some of the other settler families are suspicious of the circumstances around the death of my dear Charles. Now it seems, I have been cast, by some, into the role of husband-killer and to be honest, I can understand how strange it seems that someone would shoot Charles and manage to vanish into the air. As unlikely as it may seem, that is exactly what happened and my heart is breaking. I don’t want our child to grow up thinking that I could be a murderer. O Janetta, what can I do? His murderer is still at large.

Sadly,

Adeline

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: December 1813 Continued

Adeline’s War of 1812 Journal: A Fictional Account of a Young Woman’s Experience During the War of 1812

Thistledown Farm

December 5, 1813

Dear Janetta,

These last days have been very hard. I am so jittery and yet heavy at heart. It is difficult for me to make up my mind about anything and now my health seems to be suffering as well. I would be just as pleased to lay abed as get up and when I am up I feel so ill I could crawl back under the covers. A weariness comes over me at the oddest times and mother has noted it. I do not wish to be a worry to her or Father and yet here I sit, unable to finish the simplest task without tearing up. Perhaps things will be better in the spring, when the ground has thawed enough for us to bury my husband properly.

Mother and Evvy have been urging me to go to see the doctor in Johnstown, or at least consult dear Mrs. Randall. They are convinced that I need a tonic of some sort. Perhaps it would be prudent. In that case, I would much prefer Mrs. Randall’s advice. She is our nurse/midwife, after all and knows many remedies that doctors do not, things she learned in her old Scottish home and things that she has learned from the elder women of White Wolf’s lodge.I shall ask William to take me over to see Mrs. Randall and that will put Mother’s mind to rest.

Hopefully, Adeline

Thistledown Farm,

Friday, December 10, 1813

Dear Janetta,

Wonderful news! I am an aunt now. Elizabeth was delivered of a lovely little girl baby. William has decided to name her Victoria Elizabeth” after our dear departed sister. Victoria and Elizabeth are staying here a week or so until Elizabeth gains her strength back. Her labour lasted more than a day and she is exhausted, but “Vicky” as we call her, is a strong little baby who makes her demands known in no uncertain terms. Mother is laughing again, as she used to and I find her cuddling our new resident very often though Elizabeth protests that Vicky will be spoiled beyond all hope of redemption.

Mrs. Randall attended Vicky’s birth, but was so busy with Elizabeth, she had only time to ask me a few questions, look me over quickly and sigh. She said that she would take time to talk to me in a day or so when things were a bit more settled around here. Her serious demeanor somewhat alarmed me, but I don’t have time to think about much more than helping Elizabeth with the baby and preparing meals with Mother.

Hurriedly, Adeline

Thistledown Farm

Sunday, December 12, 1813

Dear Janetta,

If my writing is barely legible it will be no wonder. I am still shaking from my visit with Mrs. Randall. Robert brought her back today to look in on our newest family member and her mother. She is very pleased with Elizabeth and Vicky. William is beaming ear to ear, although none of us got much sleep last night with the baby waking every three hours for her feeding. Once she was satisfied with the progress of her charges, Mrs. Randall sat me down with my parents for a serious discussion.

To say I was concerned would be stating it verymildly. First of all, Mrs. Randall asked me how I was feeling generally, aside from my obvious grief. I told her that I was extremely tired and that sometimes, although I have a good appetite, I can’t always keep my food down, but that seemed to be happening less and less. I asked her if there was a tonic I could take and she patted my hand. Then she asked me in a very low voice, if I had missed my monthly and I looked at her in shock.

“Oh, it can’t be that, can it?” I’m sure I turned paper white.

Mrs. Randall smiled and patted my hand again. “Yes, my dear, it can be. I believe you are expecting a little one, probably this spring.”

You can imagine my astonishment. Mother and Father came immediately to my side. Robert left the room.

“Oh Adeline, we will have another little one. How wonderful!” My mother’s eyes were filled with tears as she embraced me. My father looked very serious. He assured me that they would be helping as much as they could. I could only think of my dear Charles and that his child would never know him. I felt numbed and I must say, I still do.

Sadly,

Adeline

Raindrops to Roses

From Raindrops to Roses

From raindrops to roses

That’s how nature grows,

So have no impatience

And don’t be morose.

A garden needs planning,

Good soil, tender care-

Raindrops and sunlight

Will all help prepare

The loveliest surprises,

The sweetest bouquet,

And soon fragrant roses

Are yet on their way.

If you prick your fingers

To capture a rose,

It isn’t a nuisance

As you might suppose.

Things that have value,

Those most we desire

Can only be gained

By braving the fire.

Unfolding in beauty

Before your own eyes,

God’s sweetest gifts

Often come in disguise.

TESTOSTERONIC FIRESTORM

My son, Brenhan McKibben is in this play that has gotten wonderful reviews. I am taking a mother’s perogative and boasting about my son. If you are in the Toronto area this is a play to see.

← TESTOSTERONIC FIRESTORM Posted on June 17, 2014 by Burke Campbell

Kat Sandler‘s plays are so full of comedic energy, I imagine her composing them, holding a gun in one hand and a rolling pin in the other, while shouting at some cowering wretch, whose job it is to transcribe the playwright’s verbal hell-storm.In COCKFIGHT, her latest effort, Sandler unleashes a play that is both hilarious and full of dark echoes. Every woman and man alive should see this play, but especially guys. And take your best mate. COCKFIGHT is more than a play, it’s a testosteronic event.

via TESTOSTERONIC FIRESTORM.

More Cards for Dads

Here are a few more cards that I made in preparation for the Father’s Day craft workshop I am giving this coming weekend.

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