"Autobiographies of great nations are written in three manuscripts – a book of deeds, a book of words, and a book of art. Of the three, I would choose the latter as truest testimony." - Sir Kenneth Smith, Great Civilisations

"I must write each day without fail, not so much for the success of the work, as in order not to get out of my routine." - Leo Tolstoy

I have never believed that one should wait until one is inspired because I think the pleasures of not writing are so great that if you ever start indulging them you will never write again. - John Updike

"The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it." - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Poetry is the shadow cast by our streetlight imaginations." - Lawrence Ferlinghetti


[Note - If any article requires updating or correction please notate this in the comment section. Thank you. - res]


Tuesday, May 6, 2014

R.E. Slater - Whispers in a Dream (a poem)


Whispers in a Dream


Gabriel's Oboe



Susanne Beer playing "Gabriel's Oboe" by Ennio Morricone,
from her Divine Art album "Cello Diverse" - dda 25068.


Whispers in a Dream
by R.E. Slater

*sung to Gabriel's Oboe (Nella Fantasia)
(film link: "The Mission: Love, Penance, Forgiveness, Restoration")


Whispers in a dream,
Oh come, whilst they may last,
Oh list my heavy heart,
Oh list its desperate prayers,
Prayers that wouldst bind,
My anguished fears restrained,
Oh hear my weary soul, lost
Thy tenderest cares divine.

Peace, peace, be now thy guide,
Dream, what dreams may be,
And there contend to find,
Courage for the coming day,
Safe'd within the tempest's sway,
Till waning dawn breaks to stay,
The beating breast its cares away,
The broken soul I used to be.

Be still, be still, my beating heart,
Awaiting heaven's deepest darks,
Plummeted passion's pride,
Swelled its discontents,
Harmed its thoughtless cares,
Oh bless, my brokenness,
There find a lonesome rest,
Come an unwont day.

Behold, day's rising star,
Shrouded penances' mists,
Swells forgiveness' peace,
Across lost hills and seas,
Across the deepest darks,
Comes a swelling uplifting ,
Breaking defeated hearts,
Upon wellsprings blessed.

Come, come, eternal peace,
Wash all, all, all
My heavy tears away,
As whispers on the wind,
As whispers in fair dream,
May heaven's mercies bless,
A fleshly altar's brokenness,
Bathed heaven's mighty streams,
No longer fled redeeming love's patient faithfulness.


- R.E. Slater
May 7, 2014
revised, June 22, 2014
Small revision, March 31, 2023

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications
all rights reserved



Gabriels Oboe (Whispers In A Dream)
Hayley Westenra (Royal Variety Performance 2011)



Hayley Westenra singing Gabriels Oboe (Whispers In A Dream) from "A Celebration
of the Movies" with Rolando Villazon, at the 2011 Royal Variety Performance in the
presence of HRH Princess Anne (The Princess Royal).

The original performance was at The Lowry Theatre in Salford, Greater Manchester,
on 5 December 2011, and it was first broadcast  by ITV1 on 14 December 2011.


Lyrics

Whispers in a dream
The world is quiet and waiting
And all around the air is still
And sings the angels.

When all is come to pass
The storm has breathed it's last
And the rain
Has washed our fears away
Love will find.

Whispers in the wind
The clouds part to let the light in
And all around the people sigh
As birds take to the sky.

When all is come to pass
The storm has breathed it's last
And the rain
Has washed our fears away
Love will fall on us all
The world will smile again.

Whispers in a dream
The world is quiet and waiting
And all around the air is still
Then sings the angels.

When all is come to pass
The storm has breathed it's last
And the rain
Has washed our fears away
Love will fall on us all
And we can smile again.



Sarah Brightman - Nella Fantasia (One Night in Eden)
Eden Album performed in Johannesburg, South Africa


"One Night in Eden" is a live concert recording by Sarah Brightman,
inspired by her Eden album. The premiere concert held in
Johannesburg, South Africa was recorded in 1999.


Italian:

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto,
Li tutti vivono in pace e in onestà.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano,
Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima.

Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo chiaro,
Li anche la notte è meno oscura.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano.
Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima.

Nella fantasia esiste un vento caldo,
Che soffia sulle città, come amico.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano,
Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima.


English:

In my fantasy I see a fair world,
Everyone lives in peace and honesty.
I dream of souls that are always free,
Like a cloud that floats,
Pien 'd'humanity in the depths.

In my fantasy I see a bright world
Night there is less darkness.
I dream of souls that are always free,
Like a cloud that floats.
Pien 'd'humanity in the depths.

In my fantasy exists a warm wind,
That breathes into the city, as a friend.
I dream of souls that are always free,
Like a cloud that floats,
Pien 'd'humanity in the depths.





Monday, April 28, 2014

Poems of Prayer, Hope, and Renewal

Meet me along the primose'd paths...

A Prayer
by R.E. Slater

Meet me along the primrose'd paths
And there abide till days long passed
Be Thou my heart and will's own muse
Forgiven amongst the morning dews.

Stay'd by prayer tho' dark night enclose

Entwine'd by grace we together arose
O'er misty lands of earthy delights
Or outer isles of nethering dawns.

Where ’ere is sung Thy abiding love

Bowed grave upon thorny hillock brakes -
“O Lord, Thou art our need and thrall”
“In giving Thyself hast Thou given all.”

May we do no less each Paschal day

Giving all to Thee our help and stay.

- R.E. Slater

March 28, 2012



More Poems of Prayer -

Prayer
by Robert Louis Stevenson

I ASK good things that I detest,
With speeches fair;
Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,
But hear my prayer.

I say ill things I would not say -

Things unaware:
Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,
And not my prayer.

My heart is evil in Thy sight:

My good thoughts flee:
O Lord, I cannot wish aright -
Wish Thou for me.

O bend my words and acts to Thee,

However ill,
That I, whate'er I say or be,
May serve Thee still.

O let my thoughts abide in Thee

Lest I should fall:
Show me Thyself in all I see,
Thou Lord of all.


Our Prayer of Thanks
by Carl Sandburg

For the gladness here where the sun is shining at
evening on the weeds at the river,
Our prayer of thanks.
For the laughter of children who tumble barefooted and
bareheaded in the summer grass,
Our prayer of thanks.

For the sunset and the stars, the women and the white
arms that hold us,
Our prayer of thanks.

God,
If you are deaf and blind, if this is all lost to you,
God, if the dead in their coffins amid the silver handles
on the edge of town, or the reckless dead of war
days thrown unknown in pits, if these dead are
forever deaf and blind and lost,
Our prayer of thanks.

God,
The game is all your way, the secrets and the signals and
the system; and so for the break of the game and
the first play and the last.
Our prayer of thanks.




Prayer XXIII
by Khalil Gibran

Then a priestess said, "Speak to us of Prayer."

And he answered, saying:


You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance.


For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether?


And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart.


And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing.


When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet.


Therefore let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion.


For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive.


And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted:


Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard.


It is enough that you enter the temple invisible.


I cannot teach you how to pray in words.


God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips.


And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains.


But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart,


And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence,


"Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth.


It is thy desire in us that desireth.


It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also.


We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us:


Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all."






Sunday, April 13, 2014

R.E. Slater - Awakening (a poem)




Awakening
by R.E. Slater


Not all at once,
perhaps slowly,
sleepily,
spring awakened
upon an early April's
rhapsodic graces,
heavy with night's
waning fragrances
of cleansing rains,
that wouldst free
bound earth
of dreary winter's
retreating embraces,
and there lie,
quietly alone,
in subduing lights,
remembering
days past bourne
of deeper stirrings,
more ancient callings.

Listening intently,
the haunting verve
of faraway geese
honking in muted,
cacophonous chorus,
its eager flocks
circumscribing
dawn's grey lights
on tireless wing,
carving cold airs
plundering forward
in diminishing echo,
till lost at last,
as quickly as heard,
upon receding memories
of an earlier dawn's
distant birth,
and nevering lands,
beckoning home,
both wont and will.

Remembering
more ancient stirrings,
of youth's lost keeps,
fled on a dawn's
dying echoes sounding
its tympanous chorus
to the burgeoning day,
cleaving its leas,
its forlorn streams,
its desperate byways,
upon a stubborn heart's
resolute dreams
that northward lay
its eternal abodes,
its minstrel lays,
its nethering dawns,
in the early waking lights,
of a new day's arising,
beheld of stout heart,
and faithful Maker.

In whose hands
no charge so deep,
nor call so hard,
is miskept,
nor distant dies,
on a morning's call,
and sounding charge,
affecting wing and heart,
mind and keep,
the eternal flyways
of the beating breast,
pressing wing and voice,
man and beast,
its steady rhythms
of renewing dawns
tissued in membranes
of rebirth, of
time and space,
unto filioqued lands
of more primal decree.


- R.E. Slater
April 12-13, 2014

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved



Thursday, April 3, 2014

Jack London - Novelist, Writer, Sailor, Gold Prospector, Rancher


Novelist Jack London, 1903

Wikipedia Biogarphy

Born
John Griffith Chaney
January 12, 1876
Died
November 22, 1916 (aged 40)
Glen Ellen, California, US
OccupationNovelistjournalistshort story writer and essayist
Literary movementRealism and Naturalism

Signature

John Griffith "Jack" London (born John Griffith Chaney,[1] January 12, 1876 – November 22, 1916)[2][3][4][5] was an American author, journalist, and social activist. He was a pioneer in the then-burgeoning world of commercial magazine fiction and was one of the first fiction writers to obtain worldwide celebrity and a large fortune from his fiction alone.[6] Some of his most famous works include The Call of the Wild and White Fang, both set in the Klondike Gold Rush, as well as the short stories "To Build a Fire", "An Odyssey of the North", and "Love of Life". He also wrote of the South Pacific in such stories as "The Pearls of Parlay" and "The Heathen", and of the San Francisco Bay area in The Sea Wolf.

London was a passionate advocate of unionization, socialism, and the rights of workers and wrote several powerful works dealing with these topics such as his dystopian novel The Iron Heel, his non-fiction exposé The People of the Abyss, and The War of the Classes.

Wiki Quotes by Jack London


* * * * * * * * *


Review: ‘Jack London’ biography burnishes
larger-than-life man of letters
http://www.postandcourier.com/article/20140119/PC12/140119472/1003/-x2018-jack-london-x2019-bio-burnishes-image

by Rosemary Michaud, The Post and Courier 
January 19, 2014

JACK LONDON: An American Life. By Earle Labor. FSG. 384 pages. $30.

Jack London did not make old bones. Indeed, given the fact that at the time of his death in 1916, he suffered from clogged arteries, diseased kidneys, arthritis, rheumatism, chronic nausea, dysentery, edema and insomnia, it is rather amazing that he lasted long enough to see his 40th birthday, which he did, just barely.

It seems clear that London was romantically drawn to the idea of living hard and flaming out early, and he was spectacularly successful in the endeavor.

Reading about Jack London can be both a joyful and wearying experience, one that leads inevitably to the creation of lists. Not only did he write a truly impressive number of novels, short stories, memoirs, essays, plays and poems, he also spent time as a hobo, an oyster pirate, a seal hunter, a gold miner and a war correspondent. He sailed through much of the South Pacific, visited a leper colony and escaped cannibals in the Solomon Islands.

He was an early pursuer of the sport of surfing and helped popularize it in this country. He taught himself how to drive a stagecoach. He boxed. He farmed. He ranched. Twice he ran for mayor of Oakland, Calif., as a socialist. And that is, without exaggeration, only a partial compilation of the many doings of John Griffith London. If he lived in the present day, he would doubtless be offered a prescription for Ritalin.

Born in 1876 to a single mother in straightened circumstances, London was forced to help support his family from the time he was an adolescent and continued to do so for most of his life. He developed a tremendous work ethic that carried over into his writing. Up to the time of his death, sick or well, on land or sea, he tried to produce a thousand words a day without fail.

He mastered a rugged, Kiplingesque style that went over very well in the burgeoning popular magazine market of the time, and though, not surprisingly, a portion of what he wrote was hackwork, he had no choice but to keep churning it out. His ever more complex and expensive way of life demanded it.

When London was good, however, he was very good. While prospecting in the Klondike, he became moved by the plight of the “trail-hardened” huskies and inspired to write his great classic, “Call of the Wild,” its antithesis “White Fang,” and what some consider his finest short story, “To Build a Fire.” All are still read today.

Earle Labor, professor emeritus of American literature at Centenary College of Louisiana, has spent much of his professional life studying and writing about Jack London. He is also the curator of the Jack London Museum in Shreveport and, perhaps more significantly, states that he heard the “call” of Jack London “more than 70 years ago as a boy in a one-story brick schoolhouse.” It is difficult not to suspect that this has somewhat colored his view of London.

While he possesses full academic bona fides and has written a highly readable (his prose, in places, faintly echoes that of his subject), deeply researched account, one gets the impression that London’s darker side may have been soft pedaled.

Labor dutifully reports on the author’s carousing, alcoholism, infidelity to both his wives, occasionally troubled relationship with his daughters and fatally careless attitude towards his own health, but he sometimes seems to be describing the peccadilloes of a charming, basically innocent child.

In reality, for all his genuine charisma, generosity and joie de vivre, London couldn’t have been easy to live with. His second wife, Charmian Kittredge, who adored her husband and whose diaries Labor draws on extensively, often recounted the pain London caused her with his drinking and frequent bouts of illness. The fact is, London, as dedicated as he was to his craft, would probably have struggled more with his writing, especially in later years, had Charmian not faithfully toiled over reading, editing and typing his manuscripts. The selflessness of the “woman behind the great man,” probably quite rare today, allowed Jack to be Jack.

Despite his foibles, London remains one of the most unique and captivating members of the American literary canon. With this book, Labor has lovingly burnished what was already a larger-than-life reputation.

Reviewer Rosemary Michaud is a writer in Charleston.


* * * * * * * * *


Novelist Jack London

Who was . . .

Overview

Considered by many to be America’s finest author, Jack London, whose name at birth was John Griffith Chaney, was born “south of the slot”—an area south of Market Street and its cable lines in San Francisco, California, on January 12, 1876. The California Historical Society has placed a plaque, attached to a former Wells Fargo Building at Third and Brannan Streets, at what was formerly 615 Third Street, a home destroyed by the famous April 18, 1906 fire that accompanied the great quake. This plaque states that it “marks the birthplace of the noted author Jack London . . .” The plaque marks the location of the home of the Slocums, friends of Flora, Jack’s mother, where it has been said she was living after her reported suicide attempt and release from Dr. Ruttley’s (which was on Mission Street). Jack’s birth certificate does not indicate where he was born, so although we cannot verify this as the actual birthplace of Jack London, at the time, most children were born at home, so this is feasible.

It is believed that he is the biological son of William Chaney, an itinerant astrologer and journalist, who “married” then deserted Jack’s mother, Flora, a spiritualist, before he was born. Flora married John London, a Civil War veteran who had recently moved to San Francisco, eight months after Jack was born. Jack did not learn the true circumstances of his birth until he was in his early twenties. Much of his youth was spent in Oakland, California, on the waterfront.

Jack had little formal schooling. Initially, he attended school only through the 8th grade, although he was an avid reader, educating himself at public libraries, especially the Oakland Public Library under the tutelage of Ina Coolbrith, who later became the first poet laureate of California. In later years (mid-1890s), Jack returned to high school in Oakland and graduated. He eventually gained admittance to U.C. Berkeley, but stayed only for six months, finding it to be “not alive enough” and a “passionless pursuit of passionless intelligence”.

Jack’s extensive life experiences included: being a laborer, factory worker, oyster pirate on the San Francisco Bay, member of the California Fish Patrol, sailor, able-bodied seaman, railroad hobo, and gold prospector (in the Klondike from 1897-1898). In his teens, he joined Coxey’s Army in its famous march on Washington, D.C., and was later arrested for vagrancy in Erie County, New York. As a journalist, Jack covered the Russo-Japanese War for the Hearst newspapers in 1904, and in 1914, he covered the Mexican Revolution for Collier’s.

It was during his cross-country travels that he became acquainted with socialism, which for many years, became his “holy grail”. He became known as the “Boy Socialist of Oakland” because of his passionate street corner oratory. In fact, he unsuccessfully ran for mayor of Oakland several times as the socialist party candidate.

In 1900, Jack married his math tutor and friend, Bess Maddern. It was a Victorian marriage typical of the time, based on “good breeding”, not love. With Bess, he had two daughters — Joan and Bess (“Becky”). Following his separation from Bess in 1903, he married his secretary, Charmian Kittredge, whom he considered his “Mate Woman” and with whom he found true love. Together, they played, traveled, wrote and enjoyed life. Their one child, Joy, only lived for thirty-eight hours.

In 1907, with his second wife, Charmian, Jack sailed the Pacific to the South Seas in the Snark, which became the basis for his book, The Cruise of the Snark. With Charmian at his side, he also developed his “Beauty Ranch” on 1,400 acres of land in Glen Ellen, California.

By his death at age forty on November 22, 1916, Jack had been plagued for years by a vast number of health problems, including stomach disturbances, ravaging uremia, and failing kidneys. His death certificate states that he died of uremic poisoning.

Jack was among the most publicized figures of his day. In his lectures, he endorsed socialism and women’s suffrage. He was also one of the first celebrities used to endorse commercial products, such as grape juice and men’s suits.

Young Jack London’s exceptional brightness and his optimistic, buoyant personality eventually combined to transform his many experiences into a working philosophy of service and survival. He became the personification for his readers of many of the virtues and ideals of a turn-of-the-century Western American man and was the country’s first successful working class writer.

Jack London, Writer

Jack London, Writer

Jack London . . . The Writer

Once Jack had resolved himself to succeed as an author, his diligent habits and innate skills catapulted him far beyond most of his literary peers in both perspective and content. By following a strict writing regimen of 1,000 words a day, he was able to produce a huge quantity of high quality work over a period of eighteen years.

Jack had become the best-selling, highest paid and most popular American author of his time. He was prolific: fifty-one of his books and hundreds of his articles had been published. He had written thousands of letters. Many additional works have been published posthumously. His most notable books include The Call of the Wild (originally entitled “The Sleeping Wolf”) which was published in 1903, The Iron Heel, White Fang, The Sea-Wolf (originally entitled “Mercy of the Sea”), The People of the Abyss (a sociological treatise about the slums of London, England), John Barleycorn, Martin Eden, and The Star Rover. His short story, “To Build A Fire”, is considered to be an all-time classic. His writings have been translated in several dozen languages and to this day continue to be widely read throughout the world.

This American literary genius brilliantly and compassionately portrayed his life and times, as well as the neverending struggles of man and nature. Millions of avid readers have been thrilled by his stories of adventure. Authors and social advocates have been inspired by his heartfelt prose. Nevertheless, many of his life experiences were more exciting than his fiction.

Jack London, Sailor

Jack London . . . The Sailor

No man has ever loved to sail more than Jack London. Even as a very young boy, fishing with his stepfather in small boats, his head would fill with visions of tropical islands and faraway places. As he grew up, he occasionally rented boats with money earned from his many part-time jobs. At fifteen, with the financial assistance of “Aunt Jenny” Prentiss, Jack bought a sloop, the Razzle Dazzle, in order to escape the life of the “work beast”. He became an illegal oyster pirate, and before long, had earned the title of “Prince of the Oyster Pirates”; he made more money in one week than he was able to earn in his first full year as a professional writer. Realizing that the life of an oyster pirate frequently ended in prison or death, he reformed and became a California Fish Patrol deputy.

During his lifetime, Jack sailed on a variety of ships including: the sealing schooner Sophia Sutherland to Japan (on which he served as an able-bodied seaman); on the steamship SS Umatilla and the City of Topeka (to Alaska); the RMS Majestic (to England); the SS Siberia (as correspondent during the Russo-Japanese War); took a sampan to Korea; bought and sailed the Spray; designed, built, and sailed the Snark [named after the humoresque Lewis Carroll story] to Hawaii and the South Seas; returned from Tahiti to San Francisco on the SS Mariposa; sailed on the ketch Minota near Tahiti; sailed from Australia to Ecuador on the Tymeric; cruised on the San Francisco Bay and environs in the Roamer; sailed from Seattle to California on the City of Pueblo; sailed on the Dirigo from New York to San Francisco by way of Cape Horn; took the US Army transport Kilpatrick to Mexico (to write about the Mexican Revolution); sailed on fishing boats; stayed on a houseboat; visited the hospital ship USS Solace, the repair ship USS Vestal, and the battleships New York, Arkansas, and Mississippi; returned to Galveston on the transport Ossabow; sailed to Hawaii on the Matsonia; and returned to California on the SS Sonoma.

Jack London, Gold Prospector

Jack London . . . The Gold Prospector

Overcome with “Klondike fever,” Jack departed from San Francisco on the SS Umatilla on July 25, 1897, accompanied and bankrolled by his much older brother-in-law, Captain Shepard, who returned home after only two days on the rugged Alaska trails. With nearly 2,000 pounds of required equipment — including warm garments, food, mining implements, tents, blankets, Klondike stoves, and a copy of Miner Bruce’s Alaska, Jack entered the Yukon Territory by way of the Dyea River and the notorious Chilkoot Pass.

Jack moved into a cabin and staked a claim on Henderson Creek in early November of 1897, after a month of prospecting. During the long winter which followed, he became well-known to his fellow prospectors for his storytelling ability.

In May 1898, he developed a severe case of scurvy from lack of fresh fruit and vegetables; he could no longer work his claim. Desperately needing immediate medical attention, he anxiously awaited the melting of the ice blocking the Yukon River. He eventually did receive some medical help but was advised to return home. On June 28, he arrived in St. Michael, after making his way in a small boat down 1,500 miles of the Yukon River. From St. Michael, he sailed home.

Jack London gained a tremendous amount of insight and perspective while in Alaska and the Klondike [in Canada]. Although he had not discovered much gold, he had uncovered a Mother Lode of experience from which he would draw material for his future novels and stories.

Upon his return to Oakland, California, he discovered that his stepfather, John London, had died. At the age of 22, he now shouldered the responsibility of supporting his mother and his stepnephew. Despite tackling every job opening possible, he could not find steady work. In desperation, he sold many of his belongings and dove into writing. He was talented and prolific, yet at first all of his manuscripts were rejected. In early December 1898, he sold his first short story, an Alaskan tale entitled, “To The Man On Trail”. His writing career was launched.

Jack London, Rancher

Jack London . . . the Rancher

“I ride over my beautiful ranch. Betwen my legs is a beautiful horse. 
The air is wine. The grapes on a score of rolling hills are red with autumn flame. 
Across Sonoma Mountain, wisps of sea fog are stealing. 
The afternoon sun smolders in the drowsy sky. 
I have everything to make me glad I am alive.”

In 1905, while living with Charmian at Wake Robin Lodge in Glen Ellen, California, Jack London decided to settle permanently in the Valley of the Moon. In June, he purchased his first piece of real estate — the Hill Ranch — 130 beautiful acres of trees, fields, springs, streams, canyons, hills, and abundant wildlife. After six additional land purchases, Jack London’s “Beauty Ranch” eventually totaled 1,400 acres and consisted of seven parcels of land bought between 1905 and 1913.

Jack loved ranch life. At Beauty Ranch, he raised many animals such as prize bulls, horses, and pigs. He cultivated a wide variety of crops, including forty acres of wine grapes which were formerly part of the Kohler-Frohling Winery. By damming a stream that crossed the property, Jack built a lake for irrigation and recreation. He introduced terracing and green water mulching. He produced record yields of oat hay on acreage that had been considered overfarmed. He experimented with innovative ideas such as growing spineless cactus, which was developed by his friend, the “Plant Wizard”, Luther Burbank (who lived in nearby Santa Rosa), for use as a cattle feed in arid regions; unfortunately, the cactus was not completely spineless and could not be used for feed. He imported thousands of Australian eucalyptus trees hoping the wood could be used for hardwood lumber and pier pilings, but the wood was found to be too soft. Jack’s “Pig Palace” was the showplace of the county. It allowed one man to feed up to two hundred hogs; Jack normally employed two men to feed and care for his pigs. And, his ranch’s concrete silos were the very first in California.

The ranch was also the building site for the majestic Wolf House. Constructed completely with native redwood trees, locally-quarried boulders, volcanic rock and blue slate, Wolf House took more than two years to build. Only a few days before Jack and Charmian were to move in, the house tragically burned due to spontaneous combustion caused by a careless oversight by a workman; only the walls were left standing.

You can visit and enjoy Jack London’s Beauty Ranch today. It is now a California State Historic Park which includes the House of Happy Walls museum, the Pig Palace, Jack London’s grave, the Lake, the Wolf House ruins, and more.

To read: A Chronology of Jack London’s Life . . . click here.

It is difficult to include all the events that occurred in Jack London’s life, especially the publication dates of all the books, articles, jokes, essays, and other writings, but we think you’ll find this to be one of the most complete — and accurate — chronologies in existence. It is an excerpt from The Wit and Wisdom of Jack London. Find out more details about this book at our Bookstore.

Text © 1990 and 1999 by WORDSWORTH™. All rights reserved.


Jack London,  Novelist