by jphilo | Jun 5, 2025 | See Jane Stop Drop and Roll!
I just got rid of the ultimate book hangover. It started in early March when I began the manuscript of the sixth West River Mystery. From then until the end of May, my days were spent time and space traveling between my real life as a 69-year-old resident of central Iowa in 1978 and Jane’s life as a 22-year-old resident of northwest South Dakota in 1978. The hangover finally shook it lose when I completed the manuscript of See Jane Stop, Drop, and Roll! on May 31.
See Jane Stop, Drop, and Roll! takes place during a drought*, which is why the book is chalk full of prairie fires. And dust. And grasshoppers. And absolutely no mud. Even so, the day I finished the manuscript was of the joy in Mudville* variety. Wahoo!
Now that the hangover is no more, I can think again and share a few final See Jane tidbits:
- Whenever I finish a See Jane manuscript, it feels like I’ve returned from a visit to the South Dakota town where we used to live. It makes me homesick every time.
- Midwestern Books has confirmed that the fifth book in the West River Mysteries, See Jane Ride!, will be released in the spring of 2026. Whether that’s March or April has yet to be determined.
- The publisher has also confirmed that See Jane Stop, Drop, and Roll! will be released in October of 2026.
- I’ve been invited to present at the 2025 South Dakota Book Festival. It will be held in Spearfish*** in September. More on that to come!
Finally, I picked up several tee-shirts and pairs of shorts for our tall, skinny,10-year-old grandson (think rubber band that keeps stretching up but never out) at a garage sale today. That has nothing to do with the See Jane books, so it didn’t warrant a spot on the bulleted list. But it’s the kind of stuff I love to do when not dealing with a book hangover.
*The photograph at the top of the page was taken in July during a drought year in northwestern South Dakota. The grass was brown and crunchy. Tens of thousands of acres of tinder just waiting for a lightning strike and wind. (More on that in See Jane Stop, Drop, and Roll! when it’s released in the fall of 2026. My apologies for the wait,)
**See Earnest Thayer’s poem Casey at the Bat to find out what that means.
***Fun fact: Our son was born in Spearfish in 1982.
by jphilo | Jul 31, 2015 | Family
We’ve had plenty of rain in central Iowa this summer, but the same was not true in Idaho during my visit a few weeks back. They are having the hottest, driest summer anyone out there can remember. So this Idaho post from July of 2011, when Family Camp began with a cold and rainy bang, caught my eye. As did the rainbow on the mountain. Lovely!
As was mentioned in yesterday’s entry, the weather introduced a chilly, wet number on the first official day of camp. Day 2 dawned sunny and cool, but by lunchtime the clouds moved in, turning things chilly again. The showers held off until supper, but we stayed happy, safe and dry beneath the pavilion.
After the meal was over, folks stayed put, talking while they waited for the rain to end and the hymn sing to begin. The sun, on the other hand, didn’t wait for anything. Not even for the rain to stop. It showed up for the hymn sing a little early, and pretty soon our side of the mountain echoed with shouts.
“A half-rainbow!”
“Everybody, look at the rainbow.”
“It’s getting bigger!”
“It’s all the way across the sky.”
“Come quick!”
“Look!”
“Look!”
“Look before it fades away!”
The cries of wonder faded with the passing of the fractured light. But a bit of magic, a touch of promise lingered all around, weaved in and out of the music, breathed hope into every heart. We sang with fervor, and our voices lingered over the words of the last song, unwilling to let go of the rainbow, determined to cling to the promises of our faith.
We lift our eyes up unto the mountains.
Where does our help come from?
Our help comes from you,
Maker of heaven, Creator of the earth.
Oh, how we need you, Lord.
You are our only hope.
You are our only prayer.
So we will wait for you to come and rescue us.
To come and give us life.
We lift our eyes up, unto the mountains.
Where does our help come from?
Come quickly, Lord Jesus! Come!
by jphilo | Apr 19, 2013 | Daily Life
Last spring and this spring couldn’t be more different, as a mason jar full of rooted geranium slips shows.
Last spring, I started rooting geraniums in March, which turned out to be too late for an early spring.
This spring, I started rooting them in February, which turned out to be too early for a late spring.
Last spring, warm weather hit in mid-March.
This spring, we’re still waiting for warm weather in mid-April.
Last spring, the geranium slips didn’t have enough roots on them when the weather was warm enough for potting them.
This spring, the geranium slips have so many roots, they may be hard to pull apart…if it ever gets warm enough to pot them.
Last spring was dry.
This spring’s been rainy.
Last spring ended with a drought.
Let’s hope this spring ends the drought.
by jphilo | Aug 28, 2012 | Top Ten Tuesday
What comes after an early spring and a summer of drought? An early fall, of course. My morning walks have been full of signs that autumn is right around the corner, and here are the top ten in my book.
10. The begonias on the north side of the garage are lush and full.
9. The leaves of the burning bush outside the kitchen are tinged with red.
8. Sunrise comes later each morning and sunset comes earlier.
7. The sumac is starting to turn.
6. We’re planning menus for the Labor Day Extraveganza.
5. The goldenrod’s got the Man of Steel sneezing.
4. Rain doesn’t make the pond scum disappear.
3. The spots are fading on this summer’s fawns.
2. The parks department drained the swimming pool.
1. The trees,
the trees,
the trees.
What signs of fall are appearing where you live?
by jphilo | Aug 7, 2012 | Top Ten Tuesday
This summer’s drought has people talking about the weather. So today’s post enters the conversation with the top ten lessons learned during the drought of 2012.
10. You know how people say dry heat isn’t as oppressive as humid heat? That’s a lie.
9. If the person who mows your lawn (aka: The Man of Steel) needs back surgery, try to schedule it during a dry summer.
8. Bugs do just fine during drought years.
7. So do weeds.
6. Outdoor weddings are much less stressful during a drought. Unless the dry heat gets to people. Or bugs get under the bride’s skirt. And no one minds decorating with weeds instead of flowers.
5. People don’t complain nearly so much when a wedding’s rained out during a dry summer.
4. Mom and I have plenty to talk about during my weekly visits. She talks about being pregnant during the drought of ’56. I talk about being pregnant in the drought of ’88. We both talk about my daughter-in-law being pregnant during this drought. Since Mom forgets our conversations between visits, we never run out of things to talk about. Until the drought ends. Or the grand baby arrives. Whichever comes first.
3. Droughts are easier to weather when you’re not pregnant.
2. Women who are pregnant during a drought should be nominated for sainthood.
1. Droughts destroy our very human illusion of control and remind us of our dependence upon the grace of God.
