Cincinatti, Ohio in 1870 - Part 1 by Denise M. Colby

 

Since my next book release has part of the story in Cincinnati during 1870, I found myself doing a lot of research of this city and wanted to share some of the amazing little tidbits I found:

 

map of Cincinnati, 1870

Public Transportation:

 

In 1870, Cincinnati had a horse-bus, otherwise called a horse-drawn omnibus for public transportation. One would pay a fee and be carried from one stop to another. When the first horse-bus started (before 1850), they were not too reliable and it was still faster to walk, but by the late 1850s, steel rails were installed throughout the city, so if a carriage had steel wheels it could be pulled by a team of horses or mules easier.

 

In one article I found there were six different companies managing separate lines all around Cincinnati in 1870.

 

Sometimes the buses were built as double deckers (I can only imagine!)

 

This picture I found looks similar to an early design of a cable car (the very first successful cable car was invented and operated in San Francisco in 1873, but Cincinnati had some shortly after that too).

 

What a small omnibus looked like in Cincinnati, 1870

I have my characters using this omnibus transportation in my most recent release.

 

 

The Cincinnati Conservatory:

 

The Cincinnati Observatory was built in a neighborhood high on a hill called Mount Ida. The location was renamed to Mount Adams when President John Quincy Adams presided over the dedication.

 

This observatory was unique for many reasons. The original 1845 telescope was the largest refractor in the western hemisphere, and the third largest in the world (the lens was found in Germany and shipped to Ohio). It also was called the people’s telescope because it was the first one open to the public (see photo below).

 

Known as ‘The Birthplace of American Astronomy’, the Cincinnati Observatory and first director MacKnight Mitchel published the first astronomical publication, The Sidereal Messenger. Cleveland Abbe, the second director, published the nations’s first weather forecasts and assisted in the creation of the National Weather Service.

 

 

But wait, there’s more.

 

Most people relied on church bells, jeweler clocks, and pocket watches to keep time. And most communities in different cities had their own time zone. But the invention of the railroads called for some sort of standard time (which they had their own system to build a consistent time). Imagine if the time your city kept was different than the train? I’m sure many people missed their train due to no standard time.

 

At the time most observatories used a sundial or a shadow clock, including the observatory in Cincinnati. But the city was so large that the these means meant time could be off if you were situated on the west side versus the east side. So the observatory received a transit telescope from the United States Coast Survey which allowed them to observe the crossing of the sun at its highest point in the day more precisely (called solar time). Professor Abbe coordinated with local jewelry shops to help regulate time around the city, thus keeping everyone on the same time. Thus making the Cincinnati Observatory the official time keeper in all of Cincinnati (I estimated the population to be about 215,000 people in 1870 - ranked the 9^th largest in the US).

 

Later (1873) when the observatory was moved five miles east of the city to a place called Mt. Lookout, and they needed a new way to communicate the time around the city (not everyone could see it now), so with the help of the Army Signal Service, it built a time ball (think New York’s New Year’s Eve ball). At noon, every day, a five-foot canvas ball was hoisted up a 60-foot pole in three stages - halfway (11:45am), top (11:55am), dropping at exactly noon, signaling the correct time. The Time Ball was used through the mid-1880s.

 

 All of this is to say that the Cincinnati atronomical observatory was the only source for exact time in Cincinnati. If you check out the website to the observatory, it states that it has been recently restored and is still fully functioning. To learn even more about time balls, you can check out this website document which is full of details.

 

One of my characters uses the time-ball in my story (not exactly the right year - but since it’s fiction, I wanted to incorporate this fascinating historical tidbit).

 

 

Women’s College:

 

The Western Female Institute (1832-1837) operated in the neighborhood of Walnut Hills. It was founded by Catharine Beecher (yes, older sister to Harriot Beecher Stowe). The school was intended to train teachers for the western frontier. Due to several reasons, it closed after five years. But it was the early foundation for future schools including the American Woman’s Educational Association.

 

Catharine Beecher (1800-1878) advocated for women’s roles as teachers and mothers. She believed providing professional training to women would allow them to become independent professionals. Schools before this mostly focused on fine arts and languages, but Catherine’s schools offered a full range of subjects. She also introduced calisthenics to her students to improve women’s health (and to negate the idea of women fragility).

 

She established the American Woman’s Educational Association in 1852 and although it did not have a location in Cincinnati, from what I understand, she ran it from the area. As an association it provided funding to help establish other women’s colleges in Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin that taught with this focus. Its sole purpose was to recruit and train teachers for frontier schools (sending women West to civilize the young - a direct quote).

 

In my fictional story world, I established a school in Cincinnati supported by this association that sent my teachers west to California. I had Catherine Beecher teaching these teachers directly.

There's more - but I save the rest to share in next month’s post. In the meantime here is more about my next release (that I gathered all this research for).

 

 

 Book 4 in the Best-laid Plans Series releases May 26, 2026

 

 California, 1870. Pastor William Baker built his life on steady faith and safe choices, but the arrival of Lydia Spencer upends everything. Independent and outspoken Lydia is unlike any woman he’s ever known. Lydia is a Pinkerton detective, undercover as a schoolteacher while tracking a dangerous crime boss. She’s determined to protect her friends in Washton even if it means keeping her distance from the kind, steadfast pastor who sees too much. But when Will and Lydia are thrown together in a search for truth they find themselves fighting not only for justice, but for a future neither had planned.

 

 

Denise M. Colby writes historical romance sweetened with faith, hope, and love. She finds history fascinating and contemplates often how it was to live in the 1800's. Her debut novel, When Plans Go Awry, is a 2025 Carol Award finalist. Sign up for her newsletter at www.denisemcolby.com or follow Denise on Facebook, Instagram, Bookbub, Pinterest, or GoodReads.

Lost Beneath Kentucky Lake: Towns that Vanished

 

Across the United States, large-scale infrastructure and conservation projects have required communities to uproot, relocate, or disappear altogether—sometimes in the name of progress, sometimes preservation, often both. The western Kentucky lakes region offers a particularly vivid lens into that experience: a place where front porches were rebuilt in neat new rows, where cemeteries were carefully moved to higher ground, and where, even now, when the water drops, the past can feel startlingly close to the surface.

Beneath the waters of Kentucky Lake and Lake Barkley lie the footprints of towns, farms, churches, and crossroads communities that once thrived along the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers.

When the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) built Kentucky Dam in the 1940s—and, decades later, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers completed Barkley Dam—the promise of flood control, navigation, and electricity reshaped not just the landscape but the lives rooted in it.

Some places, like Gilbertsville, Ky., were lifted and rebuilt on higher ground. Others, like Birmingham, slipped quietly beneath the rising water, their streets and foundations preserved only in memory and map.

And in the stretch between the two lakes—now known as Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area—entire rural communities were eventually cleared away, leaving behind only stories of the people who loved the land.

In this article, I will focus on the “lost towns” of Kentucky Dam.

Aerial view of the original town of Gilbertsville in western

Kentucky on the banks of the Tennessee River, before construction

of Kentucky Dam in the 1940s.

The closest town to the site of Kentucky Dam is Gilbertsville. The original town site was condemned and flooded when the dam was built. The new town, initially called “West Gilbertsville,” moved to higher ground before the reservoir fully filled. As of the 2020 census, the population is 332.


The town of Birmingham in Marshall County, Kentucky, is the best-documented town erased by Kentucky Lake. Located on the west shore of the Tennessee River, it was founded in 1849 as a river port. With fewer than four hundred residents, the town lacked the economic base or location that would justify rebuilding a full town site. Residents dispersed instead of attempting to relocate as a community.

In 1961, TVA dropped Kentucky Lake to an unusually
low level, exposing remnants of Birmingham for the
first time in 15 years. (Paducah Sun, March 12, 1961)

Roads, foundations, and structures remain under the waters of the lake today and can often be spotted when the water level is at its lowest during winter pool.

Another lost community, Newburg in Calloway County, was actually a tiny river hamlet rather than a town, but it did have a post office. The post office closed in 1943 and the few village residents moved out. The homes, surrounding farms, and cemetery were flooded when Kentucky Lake filled in 1944.

Numerous other low-lying river settlements, such as ferry landings, timber camps, and church communities, disappeared. These were simply acquired and cleared before flooding of the lake occurred.

In Marshall County alone, TVA acquired over 35,000 acres. Across the region, thousands of residents had to move. Several major highways were moved, and rail lines were relocated to higher ground.

This example of a TVA land acquisition map shows
the location of Newburg, Ky., before it was inundated
by Kentucky Lake 

A major portion of the project dealt with relocating cemeteries. A total of 126 cemeteries, from community or church sites to small family plots, were disinterred and moved. During the process, TVA mapped both original and reinterment sites. If families objected or could not be located, some graves were left. Of 28 graves in the Newburg cemetery, for example, most were relocated to a nearby cemetery, but five remained in place. At winter pool, remaining grave markers can sometimes be spotted on a small island.

There was no single resettlement town for those displaced by Kentucky Dam. Many families bought or built homes above the flood line, often staying within the same county. Some moved to other Tennessee or Cumberland River towns to keep their river-connected livelihoods. Often, younger residents moved to cities to work in wartime industries or other TVA projects.

Some families relocated further inland between the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers. They would be forced once again to relocate within the next three decades due to construction of Barkley Dam and the creation of Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area.

Watch for future posts about the families affected by those relocation projects.

SOURCES:

Gilbertsville, Kentucky - Wikipedia 

Our History | KentuckyLake.com 

Birmingham, Kentucky - Wikipedia 

Kentucky Lake's Winter Pool Reveals 'Cemetery Island' - Four Rivers Explorer

Newburg, Kentucky - Four Rivers Explorer

history.ky.gov/markers/inundated-site?

Multi-award-winning author Marie Wells Coutu finds beauty in surprising places, like undiscovered treasures, old houses, and gnarly trees. All three books in her Mended Vessels series, contemporary stories based on the lives of biblical women, have won awards in multiple contests. She is currently working on historical romances set in her native western Kentucky in the 1930s and ‘40s. An unpublished novel, Shifting Currents, placed second in the inspirational category of the nationally recognized Maggie Awards. Learn more at www.MarieWellsCoutu.com.

When the lights of Broadway dim, Delia leaves the city behind. But will her family welcome her home again?

The historical short story, “All That Glistens,” is loosely based on an actual woman from the "Between the Rivers" area of western Kentucky. It was included in the 2023 Saturday Evening Post Great American Fiction collection and is now available free when you sign up for Marie's newsletter here. In her newsletter, she shares about her writing, historical tidbits, recommended books, and sometimes recipes. 

The Strange Traditions of Live Theater

The Strange Traditions of Live Theater

By Kathy Kovach

Whenever creatives get together, one can expect imaginations to collide, creating a burst of prismatic color. This is my explanation for the wild and beautiful traditions that have sprung from live theater.

Such as, you can never say the name “Macbeth”, but you can wish someone to “break a leg.” Never ever whistle, but bad dress rehearsals are encouraged. Let’s enter the stage—with the right foot only, please—and explore the origins of theater traditions and so-called superstitions.

The big no-no that is widely accepted is to never say the name “Macbeth” inside the theater. It is only to be referred to as “The Scottish Play” or “The Bard’s Play.” So powerful was Shakespeare’s authoring of the tale, that it’s believed the spells the three witches invoked actually cursed the play itself. Could this really be the reason for the multiple mishaps over the years? Such as nearly losing the beloved actor Lawrence Olivier in 1937 when some stage weights narrowly missed him. Or, in 1942, when three performers died during the play’s run at the Piccadilly Theater in London.

Was it really a curse, or would these things have happened regardless of a slip of the tongue? Those who are a slave to superstition have a simple remedy. If the name “Macbeth” is invoked, one need only to step outside of the theater, turn around three times, spit, curse, and knock three times on the stage door. Whew! Who knew disaster could be avoided by doing a bizarre version of the Hokey-Pokey?

What about the “no whistling” rule? Was that the result of the underworld playing cruel games? Not at all. Sailors, while on leave, often worked backstage to earn extra money and used the same system while at sea to give instruction. I imagine the sound cut through the wind and waves easier than a voice. The “no whistling” rule didn’t apply to them, but to everyone else.

If someone decided to whistle a happy tune, it could, for instance, confuse the one waiting to drop a set, and thus cause injury. Therefore, the stagehands were the only ones allowed to whistle while they worked. (Sorry, it needed to be said.)

How often have you told a performer to “break a leg?” No one? Just me? Well, this tradition has a plethora of theories. Ancient Greek patrons would stomp their feet so hard in their enthusiasm that they would break their tibias. Another theory was that the space between the wings and the stage was called the “leg line.” Someone waiting in the wings to fill in for an injured actor would be instructed to “break” the line. The phrase “break a leg” was meant to wish for a performer the good fortune of being on stage.

Let’s talk flowers. How many times have you seen the leading lady clutching a bouquet to her breast and bowing as single roses are tossed at her feet? The tradition started when someone would steal flowers from a graveyard and present them to the director or actors at the final performance, thus representing the final curtain call, the death of the production. It morphed into the rule of only giving flowers after a show because it could be considered bad luck, causing the performance to go badly.

I don’t know how many times in my “performance” era—we’re talking school plays and church choir productions—that I’ve heard the encouraging words, “It will be okay. Bad dress rehearsal, good performance.” Where did that come from? No one knows the origin, but it makes sense. What are the odds that something would go off the rails two nights in a row? It’s better to make mistakes in an empty theater, where they can be fixed, than in front of a live audience.

You’ve seen it before. The single lamp, lit, sitting in the middle of the barren stage. (Again, just me?) This single bulb has the unfortunate moniker of Ghost Light. Some say that every theater is haunted, and the light gives the spirits the opportunity to enjoy the space without livings milling about. Others say it’s supposed to keep the specters away. Yet another theory is when the light goes out, the ghost will cause mischief. See how superstitions get skewed?

There are more practical reasons, however. Back when gas lights were used, the pressure on the gas valves needed to be relieved. I don’t know much about gas lamps, but I remember in historical movies the lamps on the wall always had a dim glow. My favorite source of the Ghost Light stems from a myth. It seems a thief had broken into some theater somewhere, stumbled around in the dark, and broke his leg. I’m thinking by falling in the orchestra pit. He then sued the theater for damages.

We’re always encouraged to put our best foot forward. In the theater world, that foot is the one on the right. Of course, that old “good luck/bad luck” thing has to infiltrate everything one does. However, it comes down to the right side being the dominant one for most people. In European culture, it’s said that the right side symbolizes righteousness—It’s right there in the name!—and correctness.

My favorite tradition of all is the time-honored serenading of the cast and crew singing Roy Roger’s “Happy Trails To You” after the final performance of the run and after the audience has filed out. The sweet farewell wishes those who gave their time to make the production successful a blessing and a fond adieu.

https://youtu.be/eEqUyNaSdvg?si=8JcfMm8xOp78RrjV

Titanic: Legacy of Betrayal

A TIME-SLIP NOVEL

A secret. A key. Much was buried on the Titanic, but now it's time for resurrection.

Follow two intertwining stories a century apart. 1912 - Matriarch Olive Stanford protects a secret after boarding the Titanic that must go to her grave. 2012 - Portland real estate agent Ember Keaton-Jones receives the key that will unlock the mystery of her past... and her distrusting heart.

To buy: Amazon

Kathleen E. Kovach is a Christian romance author published traditionally through Barbour Publishing, Inc. as well as indie. Kathleen and her husband, Jim, raised two sons while living the nomadic lifestyle for over twenty years in the Air Force. Now planted in northeast Colorado, she's a grandmother and a great-grandmother—though much too young for either. Kathleen has been a longstanding member of American Christian Fiction Writers. An award-winning author, she presents spiritual truths with a giggle, proving herself as one of God's peculiar people.

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Harrison Riley: The Meanest Man in the Mountains

by Denise Farnsworth

What does it say about 1830s Dahlonega, Georgia, that one of its founders was a known murderer? During the gold rush, the towns that sprang up in the state’s mountains bore more resemblance to later Wild West settings than the charming villages to the south and east.

In 1834, Harrison Riley built Dahlonega’s first store on the east side of the courthouse and later added a tavern and gambling house. By the 1840s, he established the Eagle Hotel, the largest and most elaborate building in town at that time. Riley never married, but he fathered children with prostitutes and several of his enslaved women (one estimate mentions around a hundred). Eliza Jefferson gave birth to seven of them. In public as well as in private life, Riley demanded respect. He expected people to refer to him General Riley and even had it engraved on his tombstone. What people called him was actually “the meanest man in the mountains.”

Riley was known to carry weapons at all times, often drawing them in disputes on the street. In 1838, he violently assaulted a rival with swords, knives, dirks, sticks, fists, and even his teeth, leaving the victim disfigured. He survived multiple assassination attempts. He also faced numerous lawsuits for assault and gold swindles, using intimidation and bribery to avoid justice.

Riley’s worst crime occurred that same year and involved the murder of a family of slave traders. According to the tale, William Baxter Jr. of North Carolina had sold a number of slaves for his father in Alabama and accepted local currency. He then needed to travel through Georgia to exchange the currency. His son and niece accompanied him to Cherokee Nation, where they had the misfortune of encountering Riley. After learning about the large amount of currency Baxter carried, Riley sold him a slave, Isaac, who then acted as their driver, all as part of a plot to rob them. The brutal ax murder of the family occurred near the Tugaloo River in South Carolina, after they left Traveler's Rest stagecoach inn. Isaac, who had been promised part of the loot and his freedom, took the fall for the entire crime and was executed by burning.

Harrison Riley died peacefully…or not so peacefully…at his plantation in 1874.

Riley makes a couple of cameo appearances in my new release, the last novel of my Georgia gold rush series, The Schoolmarm and the Miner. A teacher seeking independence. A widower guarding his heart. In Georgia's gold country, the richest prize may be the love they’re afraid to claim. https://www.amazon.com/Schoolmarm-Miner-Twenty-Niners-Georgia-Gold-ebook/dp/B0GMRS3Q88/

Denise Farnsworth, formerly Denise Weimer, writes historical and contemporary romance mostly set in Georgia and also serves as a freelance editor and the Acquisitions & Editorial Liaison for Wild Heart Books. A wife and mother, she always pauses for coffee, chocolate, and old houses.

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Samuel Colt – Flamboyant Tinkerer

By Suzanne Norquist

Samuel Colt (1814-1862) was known for designing and manufacturing the first revolvers in the United States. His cost-effective process enabled regular people, such as settlers and miners, to own this state-of-the-art gun. The brand and his name are synonymous with firearms today.

He didn’t set out to transform the weapons industry. He was just a kid who liked explosions and fireworks. Science fascinated him, and he asked questions of chemists and mechanics. In addition, he was a natural showman. This combination sometimes got him into trouble, but ultimately, it allowed him to succeed.

As a pre-teen, he worked on a farm while attending school. On Sundays, he was allowed to read a science encyclopedia. Among other things, it contained articles about gunpowder and about inventors who did the impossible. Both fascinated him.

Later, as a teen, he worked at his father’s textile plant. There, he had access to tools, chemicals, and the workers’ knowledge—the perfect environment for a curious mind. One Fourth of July, he put his ideas to use and set off an underwater explosion to entertain the town.

Soon after, his father sent him to boarding school. There, he amused his friends with unsanctioned fireworks displays. One caused a fire, which ended his formal education.

His next job as a teen (in 1829) was as a deckhand on a ship to India. Perhaps his father thought the adventure would keep him out of trouble. While laboring, he watched the things around him and considered what he could invent, particularly related to firearms or explosives.

At the time, most pistols could only make one shot before reloading. People had tried different ideas to allow consecutive shots. The pepperbox pistol had multiple barrels. First-generation revolvers included cylinders that were difficult to align.

Colt modeled a cylinder based on a ship’s capstan, a rotating machine with long bars. Men would push the bars to turn the wheel to wind up rope. It could spin or be locked in position. Colt fashioned a prototype of his design from wood as he sailed.

He obtained a U.S. patent in 1836 and borrowed money to build a couple of guns but had limited success. When he needed more money, he hit the road for a couple of years as a traveling medicine man. Calling himself Dr. Coult, he peddled nitrous oxide (laughing gas). Audiences loved his flair for showmanship, and he earned the money he needed to produce his invention.

With the help of trained gunsmiths and engineers, he built a factory to manufacture the first version of the gun. They designed molds to produce interchangeable parts. His plant used an assembly line, unusual for the time. This kept costs down.

He had some success, but eventually shut down the factory and looked into other inventions, like underwater explosives. For a time, he partnered with Samuel Morse to build an underwater telegraph line.

Several years later, in 1846, the government ordered 1,000 pistols for the Mexican-American War. They had heard about the usefulness of the revolvers from the Texas Rangers who had purchased them earlier.

Colt had to hustle to get a new factory up and running. He wouldn’t miss out on that sale. In the process, he made improvements requested by Captain Walker of the U.S. Army.

Add Colt’s dramatic flair for sales to the endorsement of the U.S. government, and an iconic brand was born. He gifted revolvers to heads of state and celebrities in grand gestures. He commissioned artists to create paintings that prominently featured his product. Hired authors wrote stories for magazines that included his guns.

In 1862, he passed away from complications of gout at the age of 47, leaving the Colt empire to his widow.

Today, the Colt name is synonymous with firearms. However, Samuel Colt was more of a flamboyant tinkerer who liked to make things go BOOM.

***

 

Love In Bloom 4-in-one collection

by Mary Davis (Author), Kathleen E Kovach (Author), Suzanne Norquist (Author)

Holly & Ivy

At Christmastime, a young woman accompanies her impetuous younger sister on her trip across the country to be a mail-order bride and loses her heart to a gallant stranger.

Periwinkle in the Park

A female hiking guide, who is helping to commission a national park, runs into conflict with a mountain man determined to keep the government off his land.

A Song for Rose

Can a disillusioned tenor convince an aspiring soprano that there is more to music than fame?

Beauty in a Tansy?

Two adjacent store owners are drawn to each other, but their older relatives provide obstacles to their ever becoming close.

Republished from Bouquet of Brides

Buy links: https://books2read.com/u/bOOx8K

https://www.amazon.com/Love-Bloom-Mary-Davis/dp/B0FPLFYCXR/

 

Suzanne Norquist is the author of two novellas. Everything fascinates her. She has worked as a chemist, professor, financial analyst, and even earned a doctorate in economics. Research feeds her curiosity, and she shares the adventure with her readers. She lives in New Mexico with her mining engineer husband and has two grown children. When not writing, she explores the mountains, hikes, and attends kickboxing class.

 

The Songs the Watermen Sang

  By Tiffany Amber Stockton

I didn't go looking for this story. I went looking for something else entirely and stumbled right into it.

While digging into the broader history of Chesapeake Bay watermen for the series I'm currently writing, I kept running across references to singing as something central to the work itself. That sent me down a whole rabbit trail. Here's just a snippet of what I found.

Music That Moved With the Work

Most people have a passing familiarity with sea shanties. Those rollicking call-and-response songs that have had something of a revival in recent years online. But the music sung by watermen along the Virginia coast and the Chesapeake Bay had its own distinct character, separate from the classic sailor songs of transatlantic ships.

The crews hauling menhaden nets were predominantly African American men, and they drew on a deeply-rooted work song tradition to accompany the backbreaking labor of pulling in those massive nets. The chanteys provided energy, camaraderie, distraction, and spiritual encouragement all at once.

Picture the scene: as many as 40 men in long rowboats, hauling a purse seine net filled with thousands of pounds of fish. To coordinate those movements, they sang. The rhythm of the song literally kept the men pulling together at the same moment. Without it, the work fell apart.

Where the Songs Came From

The roots of these chanteys trace back through African American work song traditions that stretch all the way to the Middle Passage. They carried meanings that went far deeper than keeping time with the nets.

Some chanteys were newly written while others were adapted from religious music, other land-based work songs, and folk songs from various communities. Spirituals blended into work songs and back again. The line between a hymn sung in church on Sunday and a chantey sung on the water Monday morning wasn't always a clear one.

Isn't that fascinating? These men didn't compartmentalize their faith. It traveled with them onto the boats, into the nets, into the songs they sang to get through hard days on the water. Whatever sustained them in the pews sustained them on the bay too.

A Tradition Nearly Lost

By the mid-twentieth century, hydraulic power blocks began replacing the hand-hauling work that had made the chanteys necessary. When the labor changed, the singing faded. There was simply no longer a practical reason to keep time that way.

What saved this particular piece of history was a group of retired fishermen in Virginia's Northern Neck region who kept performing the old songs long after the nets were put away. As young men they had worked those boats, and as old men they kept the tradition alive for audiences who had no idea such music had ever existed.

What Music Does That Nothing Else Can

The songs ranged from hymns to work songs and everything between. People who sing like that are processing life. Grief, homesickness, faith, humor, solidarity. All of it found its way into the music. Colossians 3:16 talks about singing with gratitude in your heart. The watermen of the Chesapeake may or may not have been thinking about that verse while they hauled nets in the rain. But I do think they they knew something important. Music carries what words alone cannot hold. And for the men living those hard lives far from home with unpredictable water and weather, the music they had made a world of difference.

My Pop-Pop never sang shanties in his barbershop stories. But he had his own version of this with the way certain phrases and rhythms would slip into his storytelling whenever the tale got particularly dramatic. Now I wonder if that habit came from somewhere older than just him.