THE 17TH CENTURY FIREARMS TRADE

AND ITS IMPACT ON THE INDIANS OF THE NORTHEAST 
To The Reader:
   As I began the research for this article I knew I would find enough information to write an interesting piece on firearms and their effect on the lives of the Indians in colonial America.  What I have written here is a very trim version of one aspect of white-Indian relations in the northeastern colonies during the 17th century – I have hit the high points.  Since there is so much known, and so much more being learned even as I write this, I’ve had to continually narrow the scope of this article so I could at least present work with which I hope to pique your interest. 
         Edward Maurer            

Two Trees

A farmer once planted two apple seeds on the side of a wind-blown hill. The first seed was from a nearby orchard that had stood for many years and the seeds from its trees were usually planted only on his farm. The second seed was from an orchard far away. Seeds from this orchard were planted in many parts of the land.  

As the seeds began to grow they sent up shoots that sought out the sun and the moon.  The first grew tall and slender. She would labor hard to grow straight and resilient, bending with the wind. 

Gator Callin’

“I wish you wouldn’t go into that filthy swamp by yourself, Jerry.”

Mom scowled when she said those words to me. Sometimes she would look me in the eye when she criticized me, sometimes not. I think she knew I’d only listen when she agreed with me. It happened less and less these days. I told her there was nothing to be afraid of. “Look . . . Mom, if you know what you’re doing then you’re as safe as in your own bed.”

Well, that was the lie I told her and never about the snakes and gators and everything else in the swamp. Actually, the only thing I’m really afraid of are snapping turtles, I mean BIG snapping turtles that are all over the place out there. I swear some are the size of garbage can lids, and some are even bigger…they always give me the creeps. A turtle can take your hand off SNAP!

Breaking the Rules

Fly fishermen have a standard of conduct of their very own. When approaching one another on a stream, two anglers will try to avoid crowding each other. If the area appeals to both, one will usually wait his turn and the other will avoid dallying in the spot. He will fish it, but not turn it into a drawn-out affair, thus giving the waiting angler a chance to fish it in short order.

You are my anchor

We are held by a chain of our own making.

Like that chain, my love for you is inviolate.

 You are my anchor.  

Now that you have shown up…Welcome!

I have a range of interests and observations I hope you will enjoy reading. All of it is worthwhile, to at least someone. Some of it, especially my commentaries, will make some folks happy, and some less so. Sometimes, a reader will totally agree with one position and vehemently disagree with another, and that’s alright, because that is why I write. No, I don’t write to confuse issues, I write to express myself and encourage your consideration of them, and stimulate conversation.  

That’s all for now. I’ll add to this as the muse strikes me. I hope to add a forum in the future. I am also developing other online magazines to which I’ll soon refer you. In the meantime, do me a couple favors: Give what you read due consideration, and please tell your friends and family about what you read here. 

 Thanks! Ed
ecmaurer@gmail.com

Look to the upper right of every page and you’ll see I have a list of categories for my writing interests:
-Fiction. Short stories and some vignettes.
-Non-fiction. A variety of topics, some of which is “creative non-fiction.”
-Outdoors. Outdoor writing from my personal experiences, all of which is the truth. No–really.
-Commentary. Mostly social and political, but always something worth considering. Sometimes I’ll play the “Devil’s Advocate” just to stimulate thought, but you’ll never know when.  
-Resume. Self explanatory; for those who may take an interest.

High Up On a Helicopter, So Close To the Ground

I shouldn’t be here. It should have been me who burned up, covered with flaming jet fuel on the side of a New Mexico mountain that fall morning. It’s been more than 20 years now that we lost that aircrew and it still bothers me to this day.

The Archer’s Paradox

My neighbor Annie came to me one day and asked if I would teach her how to shoot a bow. I’ve been an archer for many years and, at 18, she had taken an interest in my daily regimen of stringing my bow, stretching, and shooting arrow after arrow into the target I had set up against the back wall of my garage. Today she would learn something about discipline and self-control by merely noting the seemingly haphazard flight of an arrow…something called “the archer’s paradox.”