Flying Jewels-Part 2

Who doesn’t like butterflies?! Lissome and lithe, their shiny, sparkling, shimmering bodies float from one nectar-filled goblet to the next on gossamer wings, sipping of the sweet life-sustaining syrup. Their habitat ranges from the mountains to the valleys, their sizes and shades cover a wide spectrum, and their metamorphosis from tiny egg to larva (caterpillar) to pupa (chrysalis) to adult is almost too fantastic to believe. While I am one of many butterfly fans, I do not know much about these lovely insects, a shortcoming I hope to remedy.

One person who knows A LOT about these winged wonders is one of America’s foremost lepidopterists and conservationists, Robert Michael Pyle. I first learned about him by happenstance when I came across The Thunder Tree at a bookstore in Moab, Utah, in 2011. A memoir of his childhood in a still-wild suburb of Denver before it ballooned into the behemoth that supplanted vast, vibrant stretches of prairie with dead deserts of concrete, it elaborates on his burgeoning passion for butterflies. His style and passion for nature compelled me to buy Mariposa Road, the story of his Butterfly Big Year, but, alas, my good intentions were sidetracked by lesser pursuits, and his 550 page oeuvre has been staring at me accusingly from the shelf for the last seven years.

To avoid a similar scenario, when I recently noticed an advertisement for his latest publication, I did not waste any time, and devoured Magdalena Mountain, his first novel, in a few days. Set in Colorado and full of alluring descriptions of its high country and denizens, the narrative revolves around the amazing life cycle of the Magdalena Alpine butterfly (Erebia magdalena). Natural history is interspersed and contrasted with an account of the political, religious, and social changes that influenced this state and country, and the author’s affirmation of life and love (sexual descriptions are not limited to butterflies) runs through the suspenseful, lyrical narrative like a common thread. One of many possible conclusions I carried away: Only when we cease to look at life in an anthropocentric way will humankind have a chance to survive, and to leave behind a livable earth.

Inspired, I pulled the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Butterflies off the shelf where it had collected dust for even longer than Mariposa Road. My husband’s handwritten dedication indicated that this was a birthday present to me in 1998! It seems impossible that two decades have passed so swiftly, but I was equally as surprised to see that this tome was authored by none other than Robert Michael Pyle. Having come full circle, I finally leafed through its glossy pages and tried to identify some of the Colorado butterflies whose pictures I have taken throughout the years, Magdalena not (yet) among them. If I have erred, please correct me. I look forward to understanding more about these creatures who have been at the center of Mr. Pyle’s life, and long and luminous career.

Common Blue (Polyommatus icarus)/Gemeiner Bläuling

Sulfur (Colias ?)/Gelbling

Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui )/Amerikanischer Distelfalter

Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui )/Amerikanischer Distelfalter

Western Tiger Swallowtail (Papilio rutulus)/Westlicher Tigerschwalbenschwanz

Anise Swallowtail (Papilio zelicaon)/Anis-Schwalbenschwanz

Phoebus Parnassian (Parnassius phoebus)/Alpenapollo

Mourning Cloak (Nymphalis antiopa)/Trauermantel

Western White (Pontia occidentalis)/? Westlicher Weißling

Callippe Fritillary, female (Speyeria callippe)/? Perlmutterfalter, weiblich

Callippe Fritillary, male (Speyeria callippe)/? Perlmutterfalter, männlich

Weidemeyer’s Admiral (Limenitis weidermeyerii)/? W. Admiral

Click here for Flying Jewels-Part 1, my post about hummingbirds.

Click here for my post Monarchs and Milkweed, which shows the amazing life cycle of the butterfly shown in the topmost photo, and the many perils it faces.

Anne Frank

During a tour of Amsterdam’s “Grachten”, the narrow canals which transect this “Venice of the North”, our boat passed 263 Prinsengracht. The many adults and even more children lined up at this famous address had the same goal as I – to visit the place where Anne Frank went into hiding during World War II. Once back at the dock, I joined the queue of tourists snaking around several adjacent structures. The reverential multitudes, among whom my ear discerned a babel of languages, did not appear bothered by having to wait more than an hour before gaining admittance to what is now the Anne Frank House Museum.

Boat tour on Amsterdam’s Grachten

Queue for the Anne Frank House Museum

The narrow, four-story brown brick building once held the warehouse and offices of Mr. Frank’s company, which sold gelling agents for homemade jam and spice mixes for meat. The Frank family fled from Germany to Amsterdam in 1933, following Hitler’s rise to power. When German forces occupied the Netherlands in 1940, Jewish ownership was outlawed. Otto Frank transferred directorship to two of his employees, but remained involved in the management of his business. Once anti-Semitic excesses became more egregious, Jews were forced to wear the yellow Star of David, and large numbers were deported, the Frank family left their home for the so-called “Secret Annex”, on the second and third floors of the warehouse. Here they remained from July 6, 1942 until their arrest on August 4, 1944. Anne, her older sister Margot, and their parents Edith and Otto were soon joined by the Van Pels couple, their son Peter, and a dentist, Fritz Pfeffer.

Anne Frank House Museum

263 Prinsengracht

I reached the secret rooms of the annex just as they did, by stepping through a door on the third floor which could be concealed behind a moveable bookcase. As the warehouse was still actively used while the group was in hiding, they could not afford to make noise until after the workers left at day’s end. Behind blackened windows, they could only let down their guard at night and on weekends. Employees Miep Gies, Johannes Keiman, Victor Kugler, Bep Voskuijl, and two of their family members helped supply the captives with food, news from the outside world and other necessities, at the peril of their own lives.

Anne journaled about the cramped conditions in the tiny four rooms and one lone bathroom, plus the attendant conflicts. Despite dreading detection, deportation and death daily, this group of eight still had to deal with mundane concerns. They all suffered – from repetitive meals, spoiled food, limited space, annoying habits, and petty human traits. Anne and Mr. Pfeffer had frequent arguments about the use of a desk in a shared room. The families accused one another of hoarding food, dishes or clothes. When they finally dumped their assorted chamber pots down the toilet, it frequently clogged.

Anne’s diary entries were an outlet for her frustrations, teenage turmoil, and angst. They show her struggle with self-assertion, while trying to please others, and her frustration with the adults whom she did not consider good role models. At times, these are jolting, as she does not embellish what she perceives as other people’s faults, including her mother’s, with whom she had a tumultuous relationship.

But her writing also reflects her dreams of being free, of conducting a normal life after the war’s end. Her love of learning, books, history, royal lineages and movies is evident throughout her diary, as is her never-ending hope for a bright future. She yearned for nature, felt trapped inside the annex, and longed for the outdoors:

The best remedy for those who are frightened, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere they can be alone, alone with the sky, nature and God. For then and only then can you feel that everything is as it should be and that God wants people to be happy amid nature’s beauty and simplicity. …I firmly believe that nature can bring comfort to all who suffer (February 23, 1944).

Anne also had a vision for her future:

I need something besides a husband and children to devote myself to. I don’t want to have lived in vain like most people (April 5, 1944).

You’ve known for a long time that my greatest wish is to be a journalist, and later on, a famous writer. We’ll have to wait and see if these grand illusions (or delusions!) will ever come true, but till now, I’ve had no lack of topics. In any case, after the war I’d like to publish a book called The Secret Annex (May 11, 1944).

Following the allies’ landing in France in June 1944, and their subsequent advances against German forces, hope for an end to the Nazi terror is tangible in many of her entries. The end of their confinement came on August 4, but it was not the ending anybody had longed for. German and Dutch forces raided their hiding place, arrested its inhabitants, and sent them to a transit camp at Westerbork in Holland, before deporting them to Auschwitz in early September. The formerly widespread assumption that they were betrayed has lately been questioned.

In spite of losing ground on many fronts, and despite the inevitability of their eventual defeat, the Nazis and their killing machine continued to devour millions of lives during the final year of the war. Anne and her close ones were victims of this cruelly efficient process. Of the group of eight, solely Otto Frank survived. After Russian forces liberated Auschwitz in May 1945, he returned to Amsterdam in June only to learn that his wife, Edith, had died in January. He still harbored hope to find his two daughters alive and initiated desperate inquiries to humanitarian organizations, newspapers, and other survivors. Two sisters freed from the concentration camp of Bergen-Belsen, where Margot and Anne had been transferred, confirmed his worst fears. His fifteen and nineteen year-old daughters had succumbed to typhus in March of 1945. On April 15, their camp was liberated by British forces.

Anne’s diary, left behind in the annex, was found and safeguarded by Miep Gies. Once it was evident that Anne would not come back, she handed it to Otto Frank. Even though he struggled to learn about Anne’s inner life hitherto unknown to him, he realized that her writing might have a wider appeal, but took the liberty of applying his editor’s pen and eliminating passages that portrayed her criticism of her housemates, her awakening sexuality, and her teenage crush on Peter van Pels. After initial difficulty finding a publisher, an article about Anne’s diary was printed in the newspaper Het Parol, formerly the mouthpiece of the Dutch Resistance. On June 25, 1947, the first Dutch edition of Anne Frank’s Diary was published to an overwhelming reception. Since then, it has been translated into myriad languages and appeals to generation after generation of readers. Some sixty editions later, it has never been out of print.

More than one version of Anne’s diary exists. After an appeal on BBC radio by a Dutch minister exiled in England, who encouraged his fellow Dutch to collect diaries and letters for publication after the war, Anne began to revise her entries. Mr. Frank drew from the original and revised sources for the diary’s first edition. This was subsequently superseded by a definitive edition which includes all previously redacted passages. Anne also composed fiction and additional personal stories. They are available in combination with some of her own edited diary entries as Tales From The Secret Annexe, which honors the title she conceived herself.

In exploring the Anne Frank House Museum in 2013, I fulfilled a dream which started with my first encounter with Anne’s diary when a teenager myself, over 30 years earlier. I wanted to pay homage to her life and suffering, and experience the temporary dwelling she immortalized. Having grown up in Germany during a time when the Holocaust was still not discussed openly, learning about Anne was one way to take a critical look at my birth nation’s burdensome, horrendous past. Encountering visitors from the four corners of the Earth at Anne’s erstwhile refuge, all moved by her candid reflections and glimpses into her soul, gave me hope that, one day, we will respect one another for who we are, regardless of nationality, race or religion.

I have gained a new appreciation for Anne in all her humanity. I wish she could have known how famous a writer she would become, and how many lives she would touch to this day.

My 2017 Pulitzer Reading List

The caption might be misleading, but as I intend to make this post an annual tradition, and last year’s bore the identical title, I will keep it, despite measly progress with my Pulitzer for Fiction reading list – one lone work. In response to my request for suggestions in January 2017, I heeded M. Miles’s enthusiastic recommendation and chose the “Pulitzer of Pulitzers”, Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence (1921 Pulitzer). I am glad about my long-overdue acquaintance with the author and hope to deepen it over time.

Edith Wharton (1862-1937) is considered literary heir to Henry James (1843-1916). Their writing focused on American “aristocracy”. Even though both are claimed by America as some of her greatest literati, both left their native country to take up residence in Europe where they lived out their years. Edith Wharton is buried at Versailles Cemetery in France (she was appointed Chevalier of the Legion of Honour for services rendered to her adopted country during WWI). The novelist was the first woman in a (slowly) growing line of female Pulitzer recipients (30 to this point, out of 90). She knew the settings of her prolific output (15 novels, 7 novellas, 85 short stories) well, having grown up in a “blue blood” New York family. Her words frequently assume an ironic tone not unlike Jane Austen’s, who might be considered a second literary role model. It is helpful to read this novel with the bemused air the author herself assumed when delineating human foibles from the safe distance of time and space.

The Age of Innocence was published in 1920, but is set in “Old New York” of the 1870s, the waning era of new-world nobility, arranged marriages, suffocating societal strictures, crumbling morality under a thin veneer of respectability. Newland Archer, the novel’s hero (if he deserves this designation) grew up within the narrow confines of this society’s expectations. While he prides himself to be a free thinker and more broad-minded than his contemporaries, whenever the opportunity presents itself to turn onto the path less trodden, he follows the well-worn tracks of his peers, while deluding himself with his supposed independent state of mind. Upon meeting the “love of his life”, an unconventional, free-spirited woman, instead of breaking up his betrothal to an attractive yet orthodox bride, he resigns himself to the conventional life, to a liaison condoned by their mutual family circles. He pursues a reasonable profession, fathers successful children, and plays the societal games, all the while compromising his ideals. Even after the death of his wife, when the opportunity to reconnect with his muse presents itself, he does not have the courage – but clings to the safety and comfort of the known over the unknown.

Overall, a tone of resignation pervades Archer’s life. Despite his shortcomings and compromises, his life is accomplished in the eyes of a superficial society that keeps up appearances, at the cost of individualism. I am not sure if Edith Wharton supported Archer’s safe choices, or simply portrayed the pointlessness of personal choice for those who wish to remain part of the world she had chosen to leave herself.

With 12 Pulitzer novels down, and 79 (soon 80 – the 2018 recipient will be announced on April 16) to go, I am again open to suggestions. Even though I fell foul of my goal to make a significant dent, I read much – both fiction and non-fiction. I am blaming (or crediting) my favorite literature bloggers for leading me astray (or for broadening my reading horizon), as I encountered literary genres not routinely on my radar. These blogs are written in German but have the world as their theme.

I thank Ira for presenting mouth-watering global recipes on her blog Frankfurter Kochbuchrezensentin, and for introducing me to Donna Leon’s Inspector Brunetti mysteries on her second blog Frankfurter Buchrezensentin.

Anna’s reviews and literary quotes at the well-organized Buchpost with lists of authors, countries and major book awards are always stimulating and thought-provoking and have added to my ever-growing reading roster.

Last, but not least, is Ulrike’s blog Leselebenszeichen, teeming with inspiring works and reviews. Thanks to her, I have visited London with Ben Aaronovitch’s modern-day wizard police apprentice who fights ghosts and other non-human life forms, am still stuck in the labyrinthine world of Walter Moers’s “Zamonia” where indescribable books reign supreme, and have reveled in lovely, heart-warming children’s literature reviews too numerous to count, all written in words that constantly remind me how rusty my own German language skills have become.

I hope my favorite literature bloggers will take up some Pulitzers, so I can make progress on my list in 2018.

Solstice

My body is in line.

It is at its darkest point,

but only for a short time.

Not enough time for madness or temporary depression to

     set in.

The darkest point is only a brief window of opportunity.

Opportunity for sadness, loneliness, falling out of love

     and other states associated with the lack of light.

But before the opportunity can be taken, the shadows

     turn.

The light becomes stronger,

pulling me toward it.

The warmth, the promise it holds.

And so I begin another cycle,

along with the animals, the plants, the oceans and winds

and all that feel this same pull.

 

I come into balance.

I begin again.

It is only December twenty-second and it is already

     starting to feel like summer.

 

Ofelia Zepeda (born 1952), “The South Corner“, from the anthology Sisters of the Earth: Women’s Prose & Poetry about Nature. Lorraine Anderson, ed., 2nd edition, 2003.

Click here for the German version/klicken Sie bitte hier für die deutsche Version:

https://tanjaschimmel.wordpress.com/2017/12/22/sonnenwende/

A Bloomer Girl on Pike’s Peak

To be called a “Bloomer Girl” was not a compliment in polite society. According to Victorian mores, proper clothing for proper women equaled an ankle-length skirt, regardless of its impracticality for many activities. “Bloomer Girls” donned dresses that reached slightly below the knee and were worn over a pair of billowing, loose-fitting pantaloons – a scandal. Even though she did not design the outfit, it was named after Amelia Bloomer (1818-1894), one of the early proponents of women’s suffrage, and an advocate for dress reform. Women who donned these progressive garments protested society’s arbitrary norms and typically supported the early feminist organizations and their goals of equality, and the right to vote.

“Reform Dress” or “Bloomer”. Illustration from A Bloomer Girl on Pike’s Peak.

The title of this post originates from a book I recently discovered. Published by the Denver Library District in 1949, A Bloomer Girl on Pike’s Peak refers to Julia Anna Archibald Holmes (1838-1887). Born in Canada, she moved to Massachusetts at age 10, and to Kansas in the mid-1850s, where her abolitionist family was part of the movement that settled the state to prevent it from becoming pro-slavery. They helped found the town of Lawrence where she met James Holmes, a fellow abolitionist, and, furthermore, a member of John Brown’s Free State Rangers. Julia married him in the fall of 1857, when she was 18. After the discovery of gold in Colorado the following year, the couple joined the Lawrence Party in June 1858, among the earliest hopeful gold seekers. Crossing the Great Plains in covered wagons and on foot, they arrived at the base of Pike’s Peak about one month later and set up camp near the future Garden of the Gods.

Half a century earlier, in 1806, Captain Zebulon Montgomery Pike had led the first U.S. government expedition to the region acquired in the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. While searching for the source of the Arkansas River, he saw and approached a tall mountain in the distance, but was prevented from its ascent by November’s inhospitable conditions. In his journal, he expressed the conviction, that “no man could have ascended to its pinnacle.” On August 5, 1858, however, Julia and her husband summited, and Julia is generally presumed to have been the first white woman to stand on top of the 14,115 foot mountain named after Pike years after his death. Ironically, she did so wearing her Bloomer dress which facilitated her journey, whereas Pike and his men were prevented not only by snow, but also by their inadequate summer uniforms.

Julia kept a journal, and even though it has been lost, letters to her family as well as articles written for women’s magazines have survived and provide insight into her adventures. They form the core of The Bloomer Girl on Pike’s Peak. The following are quotes from the book.

We were now fairly launched on the waving prairie. A person who has beheld neither the ocean nor the great, silent, uninhabited plains, will find it impossible to form an adequate idea of the grandeur of the scene. With the blue sky overhead, the endless variety of flowers under foot, it seemed that the ocean’s solitude had united with all the landscape beauties. (page 15)

I commenced the journey with a firm determination to learn to walk. At first I could not walk over three or four miles without feeling quite weary, but by persevering and walking as far as I could every day, my capacity increased gradually, and in the course of a few weeks I could walk ten miles in the most sultry weather without being exhausted. Believing, as I do, in the right of woman to equal privileges with man, I think that when it is in our power we should, in order to promote our own independence, at least, be willing to share the hardships which commonly fall to the lot of man. (page 20)

I have accomplished the task which I marked out for myself and now I feel amply repaid for all my toil and fatigue. Nearly every one tried to discourage me from attempting it, but I believed that I should succeed; and now, here I am, and I feel that I would not have missed this glorious sight for anything at all. In all probability I am the first woman who has ever stood upon the summit of this mountain and gazed upon this wondrous scene, which my eyes now behold. (page 39)

Modern-day view from the summit of Pike’s Peak

When gold proved elusive, Julia and her husband moved to New Mexico for a number of years. Of their four children, two died. Julia was granted a divorce in 1870, probably as a consequence of domestic abuse and adultery. She made Washington, D.C. her permanent home where she remained active in the suffrage movement and worked for the US Government until her death at the age of 49. I have not been able to establish the cause of death. The portrait above shows Julia at about 32, when she left her husband. Does anyone else think she bears an uncanny resemblance to Julia Roberts?

“America’s Mountain” reminds me regularly of the eventful and accomplished life of “A Bloomer Girl on Pike’s Peak”, the progressive, abolitionist, suffragist, writer, and first known female to scale its steep summit.

Click here for the German Version/klicken Sie bitte hier für die deutsche Version:

https://tanjaschimmel.wordpress.com/2017/10/12/eine-bloomer-frau-auf-pikes-peak/

Agnes Grey-Some Thoughts

After reading Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre and Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights in English for the first time last year, I recently immersed myself in Anne Brontë’s Agnes Grey, a highly autobiographical novel. Like many women in 19th century England who had to work for a living, all three Brontë sisters became governesses, one of the few accepted professions in educated circles. Despite this “acceptance”, they were neither treated nor paid well by their employers, nor granted any true authority to discipline the rich, pampered, and frequently unmanageable children.

When Agnes Grey, the novel’s eponymous protagonist, seeks to support her family financially by becoming a governess, she experiences this first-hand. Her first position is short-lived, because the overindulgent parents can find no fault with their offspring, and instead blame Anne for their disobedience. Her second employment lasts several years, but proves only marginally more satisfying. When her charges reach a marriageable age, her services are no longer required. She returns home to assist her mother in founding and administering a private school, following her father’s death (running their own school had also been the Brontës’ unfulfilled wish).

After years of unappreciated dedication and countless deprivations, Agnes finds true love when Mr. Weston, the curate of her former parish to whom she had lost her heart, seeks her out and proposes, in these words, “ ‘My house is desolate yet, Miss Grey,’ he smilingly observed, ‘ and I am acquainted now with all the ladies in my parish, and several in this town, too; and many others I know by sight and by report; but not one of them will suit me for a companion…in fact, there is only one person in the world that will; and that is yourself; and I want to know your decision?’ ” The Hollywood-style ending of Agnes Grey deviates from Anne’s sad story, but knowing about the Brontës’ fate, I cheered for that ending, wishing for Agnes what was denied to Anne.

The Brontës’ biography reads like a tragedy and fascinates generation after generation. It is a tragedy linked to one of mankind’s oldest stalkers, consumption, or tuberculosis, in modern parlance. Between 1814 and 1820, the Reverend Patrick Brontë and his wife Maria brought six children into the world. In the next year, the family became motherless, when Maria died of an ill-defined malady. In 1825, two of the daughters, Maria and Elizabeth, died of consumption at the ages of 11 and 10, respectively, likely brought on by wretched living conditions at their boarding school. Four children lived to adulthood, but not to old age. In 1848, the lone boy, Branwell, died at 31, ravaged by consumption and years of alcohol and opium addiction. Three months following his funeral, 30 year-old Emily joined him in the grave. Only one month after the dreaded disease claimed the life of her favorite sister, Anne, too, succumbed to it, 29 years young. Charlotte Brontë survived to the comparatively advanced age of 38, supposedly dying from consumption, but possibly from other causes, while pregnant with her first child. The patriarch, Patrick Brontë, despite lifelong physical ailments, outlived Charlotte by six more years, passing in 1861 at the age of 84.

We often think of the Brontës as a trio, with Charlotte playing first violin, Emily second, and Anne third. While Anne, as the youngest sibling, might have been eclipsed by her older sisters, she, too, left a legacy that allows glimpses into her soul. She had the satisfaction to see two novels published during her lifetime. I found Agnes Grey eminently readable, and look forward to The Tenant of Wildfell Hall which became a huge success, but was also hugely controversial. This later story about a battered wife who leaves her abusive husband with her son proves that Anne was a woman with her own opinions who addressed uncomfortable societal realities and whose quiet and self-effacing character might have been at least a partial posthumous fabrication by Charlotte. May Anne’s words speak for her.

Click here for the German version/klicken Sie bitte hier für die deutsche Version:

https://tanjaschimmel.wordpress.com/2017/08/03/agnes-grey-einige-gedanken/

The Original Helen Hunt

Out-of-town visitors to Colorado Springs regularly think of the present-day Hollywood actress when Helen Hunt’s name comes up during my tours as a volunteer docent at the Pioneers Museum. Both share a name and a relationship to California, but Helen Hunt, the First (1830-1885), was a pioneering woman and writer during our town’s infancy, in the latter half of the 19th century. Her initial impressions were inauspicious. “I shall never forget my sudden sense of hopeless disappointment at the moment when I first looked on the town. There stretched before me, to the east, a bleak, bare, unrelieved desolate plain. There rose behind me, to the west, a dark range of mountains, snow-topped, rocky-walled, stern, cruel, relentless. Between lay the town-small, straight, new, treeless. One might die of such a place alone.” No chamber of commerce would advertise these words on its banner. It is ironic that Colorado Springs did, in time, pride itself of the person who expressed them and name the popular waterfalls in North Cheyenne Cañon after her.

Helen Hunt Falls in North Cheyenne Cañon

Helen Hunt, née Fiske, was 43 years old in November 1873 when she suffered these somber sensations after a cross-country train journey across the flat, monochromatic Great Plains from her home in Massachusetts to Colorado. Knowing about her past life, they are understandable. Motherless since age 13, fatherless since 16, she had lost her 11 month-old son Murray at 23, her 42 year-old husband Edward B. Hunt when she was 32, and her nine year-old son Warren at 34. Ill at heart and ill in body, she came at the behest of her physician, who recommended a change of scenery for a chronic respiratory condition. Before the antibiotic era, Colorado, by virtue of its healthy climate, was among the premiere destinations for health seekers suffering from consumption. During a period of frequent misdiagnosis, Helen might have been afflicted by tuberculosis, but officially it was asthma.

Fortunately for the burgeoning community at the foot of Pikes Peak, founded only two years prior, the dry air of the mountains did, indeed, benefit her health, while their beauty lifted her spirits. Helen decided to stay, after a complete reversal of her earlier attitude. In an essay about her new home in the New York Independent in August 1874, less than a year after her arrival, she reflected, “To-day I say, one could almost live on such a place alone.” “Almost” because she continued to love and pursue travel.

While mourning in Massachusetts, Helen Hunt had started to compose and publish poetry. Once she voyaged abroad, travelogues ensued. Her circle of friends in New England included Ralph Waldo Emerson, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Emily Dickinson. Helen encouraged Emily to publish  her poems – but she only a allowed a few to appear anonymously during her lifetime, while the bulk of her prolific rhymes were published posthumously. Once settled in Colorado, Helen added novelist to her résumé. She belonged to an elite group of women authors able to make a living from their craft.

Colorado Springs, designed on a drawing board and in an early state of growth, did not yet offer many accommodations. Helen resided at the Colorado Springs Hotel, the settlement’s earliest, where she met fellow boarder William Sharpless Jackson. He was secretary and treasurer of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad which, like Colorado Springs, had been founded by General William Jackson Palmer. Helen and Mr. Jackson’s friendship led to marriage in 1875.

Four years later, a lecture by Ponca Chief Standing Bear altered the course of Helen’s few remaining years. She researched the mistreatment of the Indians and became an outraged and outspoken activist on their behalf. In 1881, she distributed her critical treatise, A Century of Dishonor, to members of Congress. Though it remained largely unnoticed, it led to an assignment by Century Magazine to explore the situation of the Indians of the former Spanish missions in Southern California. She subsequently managed to have herself appointed a special agent by the Commissioner for Indian Affairs, and described the Indians’ pitiable living conditions and prospects. Her experiences also moved her to fictionalize their predicament. In a May 2, 1883 letter to the editor of the Atlantic Monthly she articulated her ambitions thus, “If I could write a story that would do for the Indians a thousandth part what Uncle Tom’s Cabin did for the Negro, I would be thankful for the rest of my life.”

In her novel Ramona, feverishly written in four months, and published in 1884, she conveyed her indignation. A tragedy about the ill-fated love between an American Indian man and a mixed-race Indian-Scottish woman, raised as an orphan by a family of Spanish-Mexican heritage, it delves into the racial prejudices and abuses suffered by the Indians of the Catholic missions in the former Mexican territory of California which was ceded to the United States after the Mexican-American War (1846-1848).

While the extent to which Helen Hunt’s reporting effected Indian policy reforms has been difficult to quantify, her novel Ramona became a literary bestseller. It has been in print since 1884, adapted for multiple film versions, and, since 1923, performed annually as a drama at the Ramona Pageant in Hemet, California.

Sadly, Helen’s death soon followed the birth of her masterpiece. I sincerely hope that the sale of more than 15,000 copies in the 10 months between its publication and her passing, was gratifying to her. True to her convictions till the end, she beseeched President Grover Cleveland to correct the wrongs inflicted on the Indians from her deathbed in California, where she was trying to recuperate. On August 2, 1885, she succumbed to presumptive stomach cancer at only 54, with William by her side.

Helen loved Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs so much that her husband had remodeled their house to enable her to view it from her chambers. Now he honored her wish and buried her in the mountain’s shadow, at Inspiration Point near Seven Falls, already a tourist attraction in her days. She lay interred under a growing mound of rocks, lovingly placed by the hands of her many fans who pilgrimaged to the site.

Helen Hunt’s former resting place near Inspiration Point (with the wrong year of birth)

View of modern-day Colorado Springs from Helen Hunt’s former resting place near Inspiration Point

Eventually, she was relocated to the Jackson family plot at Evergreen Cemetery. It is consoling for her acolytes to know that her grave is the one closest to, and with a direct view of the mountain she so cherished.

Helen Hunt’s resting place at Evergreen Cemetery, with a view of Cheyenne Mountain

When the city acquired the Jackson property in 1961 and the house was slated for demolition, the family donated portions of her domicile to the Colorado Springs Pioneers Museum, which showcases four of Helen’s original rooms and furnishings in a permanent exhibition.

Colorado Springs Pioneers Museum

Portions of Helen Hunt’s dining room and library in the preserved rooms at the museum

Helen Hunt Jackson occupies a special place among the early citizens of Colorado Springs. Her indomitable spirit allowed her to overcome one blow of fate after another, and her American Indian activism was unusual for a woman of her era and social standing. In our local historic universe, she shines as one of the brightest stars.

Click here for the German version/klicken Sie bitte hier für die deutsche Version:

https://tanjaschimmel.wordpress.com/2017/07/13/die-ursprungliche-helen-hunt/

Helen Hunt’s portrait came from a photograph I took of a postcard issued by the Pikes Peak Library District. Photographer and date unknown.