Breaking people's hearts while saving their lives is part of Quinn Axworthy's job. As the government's point man on climate change, he's watched families lose their houses, their history, even their lives to the sea. For Laura MacIsaac, the ocean is a significant presence in her life, maybe as important as the sun and the moon, and God. It is heart-rending for her to watch it slowly claim her property while she nurses her dying father in the house he cannot bear to leave. Farisha Faruk fled Bangladesh and her abusive, misbegotten marriage to settle in Prince Edward Island. She's making a new life for herself and her son, but fears that her unstable husband's search for them will be unrelenting. Rory MacKinnon is building a "salvation ship" to save as many Christians as possible from the flood Jesus has told him will drown PEI. Virginia Lavallée galvanizes thousands of believers with her visions of the Virgin Mary, forcing the Church to wrestle with the consequences. Their stories unfold in a world where global warming has defined a harsh new reality....
Born in 1894 in Greer County, Texas—which became part of Oklahoma Territory two years later—Ike Rude would go on to have one of the most remarkable rodeo careers ever recorded. His storied life would include a performance for the Queen of England; acquaintances with the likes of Will Rogers, Gene Autry, and Slim Pickens; multiple world titles; and the near-miss of a championship bid in roping—at age 77. Along the way, he worked for some of the most famous ranches in the west, such as Texas’ JA and Matador ranches and the Chiricahua and Double Circle ranches in Arizona. Rude’s story also includes the many outstanding horses he rode and trained, like the famed Baldy, considered perhaps the greatest roping horse of all time. The career of Ike Rude—and that of several of his horses—is commemorated in nine museums, including the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City and the Pro Rodeo Hall of Fame and Museum of the American Cowboy in Colorado Springs. Lovingly woven from archival and family records as well as interviews with Rude by his daughter, Sammie Rude Compton, and closing with an essay on Rude and his rodeo and ranching context by Michael R. Grauer, McCasland Curator of Cowboy Collections and Western Art at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum, this biography of one of the formative figures in the sport offers valuable glimpses into the development of rodeo and cowboy culture. The Cowboy Ike Rude: Riding into the Wind is sure to be a favorite of anyone interested in the colorful lives of working cowboys and rodeo performers in the early twentieth century.
From a world of daisies as big as moons and of mountainous green hillocks Michael Fane came by some unrealized method of transport to the thin red house, that as yet for his mind could not claim an individual existence amid the uniformity of a long line of fellows. His arrival coincided with a confusion of furniture, with the tramp of men backwards and forwards from a cavernous vehicle very dry and dusty. He found himself continually being lifted out of the way of washstands and skeleton chests of drawers. He was invited to sit down and keep quiet, and almost in the same breath to walk about and avoid hindrance. Finally, Nurse led him up many resonant stairs to the night-nursery which at present consisted of two square cots that with japanned iron bars stood gauntly in a wilderness of oilcloth surrounded by four walls patterned with a prolific vegetation. Michael was dumped down upon a grey pillow and invited to see how well his sister Stella was behaving. Nurse’s observation was true enough: Stella was rosily asleep in an undulation of blankets, and Michael, threatened by many whispers and bony finger-shakes, was not at all inclined to wake her up. Nurse retired in an aura of importance, and Michael set out to establish an intimacy with the various iron bars of his cage. For a grown-up person these would certainly have seemed much more alike than even the houses of Carlington Road, West Kensington: for Michael each bar possessed a personality. Minute scratches unnoticed by the heedless adult world lent variety of expression: slight irregularities infused certain groups with an air of deliberate consultation. From the four corners royal bars, crowned with brass, dominated their subjects. Passions, intrigues, rumours, ambitions, revenges were perceived by Michael to be seething below the rigid exterior of these iron bars: even military operations were sometimes discernible. This cot was guarded by a romantic population, with one or two of whose units Michael could willingly have dispensed: one bar in particular, set very much askew, seemed sly and malignant. Michael disliked being looked at by anybody or anything, and this bar had a persistent inquisitiveness which already worried him. ‘Why does he look at me?’ Michael would presently ask, and ‘Nobody wants to look at such an ugly little boy,’ Nurse would presently reply. So one more intolerable question would overshadow his peace of mind. Meanwhile, far below, the tramp of men continued, until suddenly an immense roar filled the room. Some of the bars shivered and clinked, and Michael’s heart nearly stopped. The roar died away only to be succeeded by another roar from the opposite direction. Stella woke up crying. Michael was too deeply frightened so to soothe himself, as he sat clutching the pointed ears of the grey pillow. Stella, feeling that the fretful tears of a sudden awakening were insufficient, set up a bellow of dismay. Michael was motionless, only aware of a gigantic heart that shook him horribly. At last the footsteps of Nurse could be heard, and over them, the quick ‘tut-tut-tuts’ that voiced her irritation.
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