Mark Warren's Blog: Mark Warren Blog

As a western historian, I am honored to bring the story of a little known hero to light.

Nate Champion might be the most heroic figure of America’s Old West . . . and yet one of popular history’s best-kept secrets. Now he finally gets his due in my historical novel duology.

Nate's humble beginnings in Texas prepare him for a life with horses and cattle. Though a well-known horse trainer in his own time, Nate holds the simple aspiration of running his own cattle ranch, a dream he will carry to the Wyoming Territory as the Johnson County Range War drags him into its clutches and climaxes in one of the most impressive last stands of American history.

Nate, The Texas Story - Book One follows Nate’s formative years in Round Rock, Texas, where he makes his reputation as a competent cowboy and forms lasting friendships that will weave into his future in unexpected ways. Like all youth of his time, he learns the hard-won lessons of experience as he encounters both the good and the corrupt, that latter class including the notorious Sam Bass gang.

Most importantly, as he comes of age, Nate is introduced to the complexities of the feminine mystique. A smart, angelic young girl unlocks a chamber of Nate’s heart to which he has not before been privy. Her parents, however, forbid the relationship, which leads to tragedy and leaves a gaping hole in Nate’s soul.

All the life lessons that accumulate in Texas prepare Nate Champion for the immortal fame he will attain in Wyoming. His story is one that every American should know.

Nate, The Wyoming Story (book 2)
Nate Champion strikes out to Wyoming Territory and discovers the allure of the Powder River Basin as an ideal location for raising cattle. First he must build up a bankroll by hiring out to the cattle companies already established there. Earning a reputation as a top hand, as a uniquely gifted horse trainer, and as a man of his word, he becomes one of the few men in the territory whom the small ranchers can trust.

The largest herds in Wyoming belong to investors from the East and from England, who, because of the size of their herds, monopolize the “free range” guaranteed by the government. In time, these barons feel a tacit ownership of all the land, and they devise ways to exert that ownership by having the backing of powerful interests not only in local law and media, but in Washington, D. C. as well. The Wyoming Stock Growers Association is their front, and through this corrupt entity the rich owners declare themselves omnipotent. They make their own laws . . . and they enforce them.

When the Association begins to eliminate small ranchers through ghastly executions, the classic battle lines form between the rich man and the commoner. Because he is trusted, Nate Champion becomes a rallying point for the oppressed, and this leads to his name topping a list of inconvenient ranchers whom the barons want to see removed from the face of the Earth.

I have a lecture and slide presentation on Nate Champion that I have given at many Western museums around the country. I was well-received even throughout Wyoming where I was warned that tensions are still uneasy among some of these families. It was a privilege to meet some of the descendants of the "players" in the Johnson County War. I am gratified that these books have been so well received, and Nate, The Texas Story is being honored as a 2025 Will Rogers Medallion Award Winner.
Mark Warren

Recently, I was asked "What are your favorite reads of 2023 and why?" Do you have a favorite read of 2023? I'd love to hear about it!

My favorite read in 2023…
Pastoral Song: A Farmer's Journey
By James Rebanks

Why did I love this book?

I wish this book could become required reading for all the world. But most especially for all Americans.

It addresses a relationship between humans and Earth that is steadily slipping away from the public’s consciousness: Mankind and how he treats the land upon which he lives. This story of farm life in England reminds us of our relationships to foods, whether plants or animals.

The author, who inherits the agricultural legacy of his father and grandfather, discovers the ultimate futility and destruction of large-scale industrial farming and digs back into his grandfather’s methods of living with the soil. The audio version of this book is excellent due to the perfect-choice reader, which is always a critical ingredient for a spoken text.

But the real gift here is Rebanks’s experience and dedication. His willingness to change the course of his farm management reveals a story that gives us hope.

My 2nd favorite read in 2023…
The Journey of Crazy Horse: A Lakota History
By Joseph M. Marshall

Why did I love this book?
First of all, let it be known that I believe Crazy Horse to be one of the greatest persons to have lived on the North American continent. Naturally, I am drawn to any book about him.

Marshall, who is Lakota, has given us a very intimate look into Crazy Horse’s day-to-day life and his part as a humble member of his tribe.

He is not supernatural. Like all of us, he is a flawed human being, which makes his transcendence into heroism and glory all the more appealing. He was a man of duty and principle, yet he stole another man’s wife.

Anyone wishing to judge that transgression must first immerse him/herself into Crazy Horse’s time and situation. a near-impossible task. But to hear one Lakota (Marshall) talk about those times and that place and those individuals reminds us that we can never really know the full story of what goes on in the minds of the players.

I feel I know Crazy Horse better now. If there is a place across the river where we all will meet, I hope that I can sit down with this man and talk of things that matter.

My 3rd favorite read in 2023…
Blue Highways
By William Least Heat-Moon

Why did I love this book?

I happened to see the author on a documentary about Lewis and Clark, and I was drawn to his quiet and thoughtful manner. This made me pick up his book, and I am glad I did.

The author embarks on a journey across America to discover what is truly at the core of the quintessential American.

Shunning the interstates and major highways, he travels the backroads that are marked in blue in his Atlas. Along these routes, he seeks out the average person and engages them in conversation or activity so that he can get a sense of what drives these people to get up every day and continue to compose a life.

The author’s frankness, friendliness, and honesty jump off the page. I looked forward to each and every vignette.

I am posting this because I thought it might be guidance for others in finding good books. Maybe you would like to do the same? What are your three favorite reads from this year?Mark Warren

Only two percent of the adult students whom I host carry a blanket in their cars. Even less carry water, matches, extra clothing, or food supplies. These are not fanatical considerations, but practical ones. Perhaps the world’s congested population suggests that these safeguards are not necessary; that is, there will always be someone close by to help us. This frame of mind lulls us into a false security, even when we enter vast areas of low population density or wilderness that, thankfully, still exist.
Among my hard-core whitewater friends, with whom I have plunged into adventures made more “on the edge” by the remoteness of the journey, I was consistently met with one baffling fact on day trips: I was usually the only one in the group carrying emergency supplies. I am not referring merely to a first-aid kit but things like dry matches, a bundle of resin-rich dry kindling, a wool sweater, and a few overnight needs. Complacency can be found anywhere.
There is a strong and convenient propensity for humans to plan according to how they would like things to go … rather than how things might go. Simply imagine what could go wrong. And if that happens … what would you need?
Even if primitive fire-making is your strong point, if someone falls prey to hypothermia, you’ll want a fire blazing within minutes … not in half an hour. Matches are invaluable. My journeys down rarely explored streams coincided with high water levels, which often meant rainy-day excursions. Not only did such weather increase the chances for hypothermia, but also it slowed down fire-making time. I considered a supply of dry matches and highly flammable lighter-wood a life-saver, and in those forty-five years when I was an active canoeist … on one occasion it was.
It was on a twenty-mile-long, remote section of river that had been planned as a day-trip in December, but one of our party had misjudged his stamina. With our group of three only as fast as its slowest member, the moonless dark caught us with seven miles to go. The difficulty of the rapids made pushing on blindly impossible. As ice accumulated at the river’s edge that sub-freezing night, my companions slept toasty-warm by a fire made in minutes in pitch dark. Very high on the list of assets that night were: a flashlight, wax-dipped matches, splinters of lighter-wood, and extra sweaters. That one overnight (out of a lifetime of trips) justified my precautions. It could have been our last trip.
Survival materials kept in a car, in a canoe, or in a living abode are simply evidence of common sense. One has only to think about what might be needed in case of a highway breakdown, running out of daylight on the river, or a power outage for a given season. At home the degree to which a person prepares for potential disaster can vary from caching bottled water and canned foods to the hoarding of firearms and ammunition.
Wilderness survival can be approached on different levels of technology, too. There are fire-starting devices, water-purifying pills, space blankets, special heat-conserving clothing, chemical hand-warmers, nutritional tablets, compact multi-use tools, portable communications devices, GPS, weaponry, and more. This book will deal with the primitive techniques used by the Cherokee, who knew these Appalachian wilds as no people will ever again know them.
These skills can never become obsolete; because, whereas the availability of purifying tablets, synthetic materials, processed chemicals, ammunition, and machinery could conceivably come to an end … the gifts of wood, leaves, stone, earth, and animal, hopefully, will not.
There are wilderness programs that take students who want to “survive” for a given duration under the tutelage of a staff. Though such an experience is not without its merit and lessons, it might teach more tolerance than proficiency. At my school I have hosted many students who had attended such courses. They assured me right at the start that they were old hands at all these skills and had just come to Medicine Bow to “brush up.”
As it turned out, they were not skilled. My sense is that a student might walk away from the trying ordeal of a full-bore survival program thinking he knows how to “survive,” having put up with a week or two of discomfort. Such an attitude represents one of my least favorite American aphorisms: “Been there, done that.”
I suspect that one appealing aspect of undergoing such an “ordeal program” is that it is supervised, and the student feels that cushion of the removal of risk of life. This is a sound consideration. No one should enter into a voluntary survival challenge with death as an option. But in reality these students were skimming the surface of survival … just as they are at my school. The difference is that, at my school, they know it. At Medicine Bow they’ll put a lot of sweat and effort into each hands-on project, but more importantly they will walk away with copious notes that guide them toward mastering each project on their own. It takes years.
Am I criticizing such survival programs? Only if they purport to make a “survival expert” out of a student in a short time. Taken as a source of lessons, there are some excellent teachers offering these programs all over the country. And learning about tolerance does have its merit. Furthermore, a forced ordeal does have a valid place in triggering action – especially as a therapy for certain behavior-rehabilitation groups (at-risk youth) that need lessons in accountability and discipline.
My philosophy embraces another route: a self-motivated series of “partial ordeals” that accumulate over time eventually to comprise the full-scale, voluntary survival trip. Each step of this endeavor is preceded by an earnest quest to master the one skill that will be tested in the outing. In other words, after the training, after learning from a teacher (a person, a book), and after lots of solo practice, the student goes on an outing by his own deliberation and determination, willing to take full responsibility for successes and failures, but with a back-up plan for failures.
That’s the way we shall approach the skills within these pages. If you are motivated more than the average student, go out on your own and see what you can figure out about shelter or fire-making or building traps. But don’t let this experimental method carry over into your use of plants as foods or medicines. Never make assumptions about unknown plants. One other area that should not be approached experimentally is hunting. It is unfair to the wild animals. Every hunter has an obligation first to become unerring with his weapon.
The number-one asset a person could possess in a true survival situation is “sangfroid” – the ability to remain cool and collected while under pressure. An unfrazzled presence of mind is essential to respond logically to needs in a stressful situation. I suspect a person either has this or doesn’t, but I do believe one can improve in this area by sheer willpower and by exposure to challenging situations. It is a choice, and choice is, by my estimation, one of the great human characteristics … to be a way we want to be.
If tolerating a week of survival class helps a person realize his/her level of (or lack of) sangfroid and to consciously work on the will to be steady and productive, then that survival class experience becomes more important. And if such an ordeal spurs a student to return home and practice those learned physical skills toward mastery, even better.
But I doubt this is the outcome for most … unless a student enters into the experience with a predisposed commitment to and serious hunger for such lore. My complaint lies more with the impatience of the student who wants to “own” survival skills as he might own a car: Buy it, step in, crank it up, and do the best you can out on the highway. Survival skills can’t be mastered in days or weeks or even months. You can’t buy them. You earn them.
A survival student should consider himself a newborn in a primitive tribe and let the years accrue with earnest endeavors toward mastering these skills. The journey can be more fulfilling and comfortable with patience and planning.
(Excerpt from Volume 1 - Secrets of the Forest, Wild Plants and Survival Lore) Wild Plants and Survival Lore: Secrets of the Forest

In the late 19th century a young man named Henry McCarty changed his name to William H. Bonney and became one of the best known historical characters of our Western mythology. We know him as “Billy the Kid.”

Interest in “the Kid” continues to grow as new information comes to light to reveal the fascinating personality of a boy orphaned at the age of 14 and cast out into the violent world of 1870’s New Mexico Territory.

Determined to survive, Billy fell in with seasoned outlaws who schooled him in a life of crime. It wasn’t long before he was forced to kill when a bully overpowered him.

After trying a career at rustling livestock, Billy chose to go straight. But his intentions were derailed by the Lincoln County War, which began with the assassination of Billy’s newly found mentor and boss.

Now there would be more killings by his hand, but an argument could be made for these murders being justified – even righteous – in a land whose court system and government agents were so corrupt that eventually the President of the United States was forced to intervene.

As the momentum of the war rolled on, Billy – still a teenager – found himself elevated to the role of leadership among his companions. He lived a short life to the age of 21, when Sheriff Pat Garrett infamously killed him inside a darkened room at night.

Who was this young Irish lad who was so loved by the Hispanic community of the Southwest? How was he able to remain so likeable, courteous, and full of fun when others around him had hardened to stone to endure a violent lifestyle?

My book, "A Last Serendade for Billy Bonney" is a probe into the mind of Billy and the war-torn land that he loved. It may give the reader a new understanding of the dichotomous nature of history. One person’s “bad man” is another person’s “good guy.” A Last Serenade for Billy Bonney

Now that armadillos have made themselves at home here in the mountains of Southern Appalachia, you might be interested to know something about them. First of all, what are they doing here?! Until recently, my experiences with armadillos have occurred exclusively on the coastal plain. Why migrate here? They don’t have the ability to hibernate, and they don’t insulate well from the cold because, unlike most mammals, they don’t have sufficient body fat or a healthy coat to keep them warm. This makes their presence a mystery to me, but I’ve learned that these “little armored ones” have reached as far north as Illinois. I can’t help but wonder if this expansion of range is connected to global warming. I hope researchers can enlighten us.

Even if you’ve not crossed paths with a nine-banded armadillo, perhaps you’ve seen their tracks and not been aware of who left those prints. I’ve seen differing numbers of toes reported by various “trackers,” some saying that there are 3 toes on the forefoot or 4 on the rearfoot. Maybe there are some anomalies out there, but the standard numbers are: 4 toes in front, 5 in the rear. How do I know?

I picked up an armadillo once to learn more about it. All in the name of science, of course. But that rationale means nothing to an armadillo. It would much rather NOT be picked up. By the way, that little feat of derring-do is not recommended because of pathogens that can be transmitted to humans. Plus, if you don’t know how to pick up one of these critters, you might find yourself in a claw-fest. Think of a knife fight against 18 guys named “Mack.” It is also a bad idea to tamper with armadillo scat, which is found as small pellets. Body waste is also a potential source of disease for an over-eager inspector of all-things-natural. Like raccoon scat. And fox urine.

Stalking armadillos and watching them go about their lives is a treat. It’s so easy to do. They just motor around like little Volkswagen Beetles with manic, blindfolded drivers, bumping into things, stopping unexpectedly, changing course, bumping into more things, plowing a trench, and bumping again. When you do see one travel for a few feet uninterrupted, you’ll notice its most regular gait, which is called a “fast stalk.” This means that a rearfoot moves forward, and just as it starts to land, the forefoot on the same side begins its step. Just before that one lands, the rearfoot on the other side starts its step. Just before it lands, the forefoot on that side moves forward. Then the whole process cycles again. It seems nothing like a “stalk,” which implies slow, furtive movement, but it uses the same pattern as a “true stalk,” only faster. This usually places a smaller rearfoot print right behind the larger forefoot print. If you want to understand this track pattern, get down on all fours and follow the above formula. As you do, pay attention to where your hands and knees leave tracks.

“Armies” eat insect larvae, worms, bugs, butterflies, and ants. (Look at their heads and think about anteaters.) They are great diggers, not only in a food search, but also in digging lots of burrows. Each individual has a number of homes to dodge into. Summer home, winter home, autumn home, spring home, solstice home, equinox home, old folks home, home on the range, etc.

What will be the impact of having armadillos in north Georgia? Stay tuned. I’m hoping for a reduction in fire ants.
Mark Warren

The Westering Trail Travesties, Five Little Known Tales of the Old West That Probably Ought to A' Stayed That Way

What every author wants:
1. To have his book read.
2. To have that book valued by the reader.
3. To get a good review.
4. This last one is a wish no author expects. To be compared to the author's favorite writer.

Review from the Tombstone Epitaph:
"The Epitaph rarely reviews fiction, but author Mark Warren and his magnificent catalog of work seems to be the exception. "The Westering Trail Travesties" ushers in some of Warren's finest writing to date, and in it he shares with the readers five short novellas about the Old West. Written with the confidence of Charles Portis and the depth of Cormac McCarthy, award-winning author Mark Warren weaves fascinating and readable tales that stretch from Arizona to Texas to Nebraska. Peppered with violence, heartbreak, and intrigue, "The Westering Trail Travesties" certainly deserves a place among the most highly regarded western fiction ever written, but I suspect this is only the beginning and Warren is the western fiction author to watch.” Erik Wright, Author and Western Historian, The Tombstone Epitaph National Edition

The Long Road to LegendMost of the aficionados of Western history whom I have met, kick-started their passions for all things Western by watching television in the 1950s and 60s. There is no doubt that the “Era of the TV Western” had a profound influence on all of us who grew up in those decades. Around half a dozen Western series aired each night. Overall, about 140 Westerns debuted on the small screen in those 20 years.

Movie makers followed suit. The terms “Saturday matinee” and “Western” went hand in hand. It’s hard for modern youth to understand how that flood of Western entertainment inundated us, taught us about character, and helped to shape who we are now. The Western was then what the world of mystical fantasy is now to our present culture’s youth.

It seems that a milestone in the transition was Star Wars, which, interestingly, was considered by many to be a “Western in space.” Then followed everything else that sealed the genre of magic and mystery: Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, all the super-heroes (Batman, Superman, Spiderman, Wonder Woman, etc.) That’s a very glittery world for the Western to compete with. It’s like trying to pull a child’s attention away from a computer game to show him/her the grandeur of a spider web or a century-old oak.

One thing that must be said for our TV Western-influenced years is that the information was, at least loosely, based upon history. It was connected to something real in our American past. Maybe Matt Dillon was not a historical character, but his demeanor and interactions with the townfolk of 1870’s Dodge City taught us something about the people who inhabited that time and place. The same cannot be said for Lord of the Rings and Spiderman. As impressive as movies like this are, we’re not connected to them by the roots of our past.

The big glitch for us came when we discovered that Hollywood had delivered up its own version of the West. We thought we knew Wyatt Earp, Jim Bowie, and Davy Crockett, but we were given a sanitized version of these real life characters for the sake of providing heroes whom we could emulate.

Those of us who pursued more about our American frontier history (beyond the small- and big-screen) soon found out that we had been duped. There was no “code of the West” that insisted a lawman allow the outlaw to draw his gun first. In fact, there were hardly ever face-downs on the street in which two antagonists met with guns holstered. (That’s one of the reasons the OK Corral fight is so celebrated.)

The struggle between Indians and white men was more than a story of a supreme trespass. Though founded upon the specious rationalizations of Manifest Destiny, it became much more complicated and gruesome on both sides. But that’s not how it was presented to us through film.

All of this is to say that, for most of us, our love of the West was born out of fiction. It was the writers who started the trend of exaggeration: Walter Noble Burns, Stuart Lake, Frank Wilstach, Ash Upson, etc. Most of us probably agree that the true history of Western heroes is far more interesting than the fiction that was introduced to us. And so, many of us feel a natural resentment toward the mythmakers and swear off anything that smells of fiction.

But I am here to tell you that fiction has a place in telling the truth. If you visit a Western museum and admire the renditions of paintings of the great Western artists (think: Edgar Paxson’s Custer’s Last Fight), you might feel your love for this history enhanced by the visual brush strokes. But you’re looking at a fiction. The scene was made up or interpreted by an artist. It’s not a photograph.

If you enjoy paging through a colorful book by artist Bob Boze Bell—on Earp, Holliday, Bonney, Hickok, or Geronimo—you’re getting a good historical timeline, wonderful paintings and sketches, and a heavy dose of facts, but you’re still looking at a fictional image. As much as Mr. Bell might adhere to the best-known data, he delivers up a visual interpretation using artistic creativity. For example, we don’t know for certain how the participants were posed at any given moment in the streetfight behind the OK Corral in Tombstone. (We don’t even know with certainty how “the ball opened.”) You’re seeing Mr. Bell’s version of it. We may know that Tom McLaury’s blouse was blue and Doc Holliday’s overcoat gray, but what about Ike Clanton’s boots and Morgan Earp’s hat? As dedicated as Mr. Bell is to history, his creative juices flow to fill in the gaps, so that you can enjoy seeing the dramatic moment. And O how we love to see those drawings and paintings rendered. We pore over them as if looking through a time machine.

This is exactly what a writer of historical fiction supplies. With his/her palette of words, the writer fills in the picture, creating colors, sounds, tastes, and smells. Such a writer allows the reader to feel the sun on the protagonist’s back. To sense danger. To feel relaxed, angry, or afraid. If the author has devoted enough time to the research, he/she begins to absorb the psychology of the characters and can make an admirable stab at exposing the inner thoughts of the real people who fascinate us a century and a half later.

Reading a stellar historical novel introduces emotion to the story. In fact, I believe that it’s similar to adding a musical score to a motion picture. Pull out your favorite DVD and watch a pivotal scene with the volume muted. Then go back and watch again with its accompanying score. (Writing music and writing a novel have more in common than you might think.) The emotion evoked by this added device (music) gets you more involved in the story. It gets you invested. Puts you in a mood. It helps you appreciate more the history that you thought you already knew.

Granted, there are some writers who don’t do adequate research; therefore, they churn out books of questionable value. How do we cull them out? Word of mouth among WWHA members is one way. For another, look into the author’s background and research. It can reveal a lot. Where did they get their material? Whose research are they relying on? We who crave the “truth” about history—or at least the current culture’s take on it—are familiar with the present-day leaders of research. (A list of their names would read like a speakers’ agenda at a WWHA seminar.)

Here are two suggestions for good reads. Try The Frontiersman by Allan Eckert. Enjoy that one and watch your interest level in the 18 – 19 century Ohio River Valley begin to emerge. Find a copy of Hanta Yo by Ruth Hill. It could change forever the way you think about the Dakotah and other plains tribes.

I wonder if other WWHA members would be willing to share the titles of historical novels that have meant a lot to them. This would be a good introductory reading list for you if you would like to see how this genre can enhance your understanding of history.

(This blog post originally appeared as a guest blog on the WWHA website. To find out more about the Wild West History Association, or to join, check out their website at https://wildwesthistory.org.)

Each new generation loses a little more contact with
nature than the one before it.

THE JOY OF DISCOVERY and THE MAKING OF A CONSERVATIONIST

There are Cherokees in the mountains of north Georgia who still dip their hands into water just as their ancestors did. But in this case, it is not to drink. It is part of performing a rite. In the Going-to-Water ceremony, contemporary Cherokee people gather together beside a stream to honor Long Man for the nourishing liquid of life. Long Man is the river, stretching from mountain spring to coastal delta and including all the winding paths in between.

To the monotheistic Cherokee, Long Man was not a god, but a gift. Native people all over the world have recognized his generosity since the beginning of human history. Even into the twenty-first century a few of the “old-timey” churches of Southern Appalachia still “gather at the river” for ritualistic ablutions. Think of what they are asking of Ol’ Man River: to wash away all sins, to purify, to refresh so as to be born again.

Whatever symbolic powers we may attribute to free-flowing water, we no longer enjoy the privilege of drinking it. Not directly. This in itself may be one of the greatest tragedies of our American history. Somewhere along the way, we woke up to find that our sacred waterways had become sewers or, at the very least, choked with surfeits of silt. Now we drink from a remote outpost of water dispensation–a faucet, a fountain, or a bottle.

Perhaps the most important facet of that ancient act of imbibing water in the wild was this: The partaker was present at the source! That intimate place–a solution to the reality of thirst–was experienced first-hand. It is no wonder that the primitive child instinctively refused to desecrate it, even if by a thrown dirt clod or a careless arc of spit. And, certainly, not by urinating into it. The Cherokees had a story about violating a stream with body waste. By this moral, one who broke this code of riverine hygiene risked being sickened by the “fish spirit.”

Think about that. Is there not some empirical version of that story that aligns with science? No one had to teach early people this lesson of respect, just as today we know not to sprinkle dirt into a bottle of Evian.

Imagine going back in time to ask a primitive child: “Where is your water supply?” Would he not point unerringly to the drinking place at the creek? Ask any urban child today. Where would he or she point?

Having visited thousands of classrooms in America–grammar schools, high schools, and colleges alike–I often ask students about the water they drink. Few know where it comes from. Without fail, elementary school students point not outside but to the sink at the back of the room or down the hall toward the nearest fountain. These same students also have no clue about electricity. The youngest tell me, of course, that it comes from a switch. If pressed to go beyond the wall plate, most often they venture these two guesses: the ocean and lightning. (Maybe they’re on to something here.)

As foods go, not only are most youth unaware of what part of the world certain products come from, but they are hard pressed to identify the contents of some of the concoctions they eat on a regular basis:
“Exactly what is that meat on your pizza?”
“What’s been added to the milk you drink?”
“Did you know your so-called ‘maple syrup’ didn’t come from a tree? It came from corn.”

When I teach about wild plants in the forest and field, I am always first to take a bite–to prove that a plant is edible. Yet the young ones are still reluctant. It takes coaxing to get that greenery into their mouths. Even then, they always ask, “Do I swallow it?” One-fourth of the kids flatly refuse, claiming that, if it comes from the outdoors, it must be dangerous.

Ask children about their clothing? More mysteries. Quiz them on their everyday tools like pencils and paper. They’ll likely have an idea about these, but their answers come from the textbook part of the head, not the heart. Once I asked high school juniors to think back to their most recent occasion of touching the cells of a tree. Everyone frowned, pondering the question, one hand holding a wooden pencil, the other resting upon a sheet of paper.

As for the rest of us, it’s not just our children who are starved of the information that ties us to our natural surroundings. All of us now wander in the dark. Each new generation loses a little more contact with nature than the one before it. How did we get to this place? To the majority of urban Americans, the outdoors is now foreign ground. If we’re not out in it, getting our fingers in the dirt, hearing the conversation between mountain water and stone, smelling the grape-like musk of the gray fox, seeing the burst of flight of a grouse, how are we ever going to gain an appreciation for any single part of the whole? This distancing ourselves from nature is not something we set out to do. All we wanted was to get more comfortable.

What’s the point of this article? From my generation’s annals of music, I’ll offer two memorable lines that apply. First, from Joni Mitchell: “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.” And last, Graham Nash: “Teach your children well.”

It’s that last lyric that gives me hope. Instead of each generation coming into the world a little blinder, perhaps we can reverse that. What if each new child entered the world to an education that unveiled the secret water pipes and electrical wires that hide inside the walls of our homes? What if they visited farms, water treatment plants, and coal-burning power plants? And most importantly, what if those field trips were comprised of small groups, where the explanations were personable and made relevant to each child? Are our schools going to do that for us? That depends on what we demand of our schools.

But what’s to stop us from teaching it ourselves? Imagine doing what some Cherokees in my county do. Imagine taking your child to a creek that feeds your local reservoir. Imagine the two of you kneeling, touching the water, and perhaps saying a simple “thank you” as the liquid spills from your hand back to the Earth. Imagine that.

Finding the sources of EVERYTHING will lead you back to the Earth. Start with a creek or a river. Take your child with you and embark on an adventure. Connect that stream to the water that runs through your faucets, cooks your food, washes your dishes, fills your bath, quenches your thirst, nourishes your garden, washes your car, sparkles in your swimming pool, makes your coffee, washes your hair, and so on. Only when a consumer appreciates the source of a resource will he/she want to take care of it. Here’s the simple equation: intimacy with nature = waking up the steward in us.

Wild Plants and Survival Lore: Secrets of the Forest

America’s concept of its Wild West has played a large part in defining its collective psyche as a nation. The celebrity of the Westerner began with the death-defying pulp heroes from the pens of sensationalist writers such as Ned Buntline and George Ward Nichols and from the sanitized vignettes performed by Buffalo Bill’s Wild West players. Since all characters wearing broad-brimmed hats, boots, and six-guns were considered “cowboys” by the public, the American cowboy first rose to fame through the fiction of these dime novels.

In 1902 Owen Wister broke that mold and gave us The Virginian as the opening act to this iconic story of the real, itinerant cowhand as a noble protagonist. Thanks to novelist Wister, Americans now had a hero from the common ranks of the everyday worker.

When motion pictures were born in California, the “Western” dominated the industry and drew real cowboys, who were willing to work as wranglers, stagecoach drivers, skilled riders, and stunt men. Despite the authenticity of the “hired help,” a new wave of exaggerated heroes hit the screen in flashy garb, plying impeccable morals, and topped by outrageous hats. The public ate it up. Coming out of the Great Depression, America needed heroes as never before. Hollywood provided.

The momentum of this genre continued to build to a post-World War II frenzy. When televisions entered homes all across the nation, the “cowboy” was eagerly invited into the living rooms and dens of the young, impressionable “baby boomers” . . . and their parents. In the 1950s and ’60s more than 130 Western series debuted on television. It was this period that catapulted the “cowboy” to its highest level of respect by viewers, who accepted the hyperbole of TV scripts as lessons in history rather than the escapes into entertainment that they were.

Just as it does now, sensational news—not the good news—made the front page of a newspaper in the 1870s. This explains why we know more about cattle thieves, outlaws, and killers than we do about the honest and dependable ranch hands.

Somewhere inside all the stories and the legends lies the historical, hard-working, reliable American cowboy—a man not inclined to seek celebrity because he valued his privacy and took pride in his work ethic.

Such a man inspired the creation of my protagonist, Clayton Jane, in my latest Western novel, “Indigo Heaven.”

Mark Warren
I’ve been writing stories since I was 6 years old, those first efforts always illustrated (but minimally so . . . to elevate each work from a comic book). A healthy collection accrued through the next 40 years, only to be converted to ashes in a house fire. There were no copies.

That life-changing fire, by the way, also consumed my first attempt at a fully-blown novel. About 500 hand-written pages in a brown three-ring notebook that was, in that time, my most prized possession.

After the fire I got serious about getting my written work out into the world for other eyes to see. By that time I had come to appreciate so many skilled authors that I considered the author-to-reader relationship one of the most important interactions of our lives. To position myself on the other side of that equation, from reader to writer, felt like an act of grace. An honor. Something to cherish.

After writing a slew of novels and wallpapering my home with rejection letters, a friend savvy to the publishing world advised me to write a memoir. She said I would have an easier time getting it published. My first reaction was: Who’s going to care about the life of an unknown writer without a single published book to his name? (That’s still a reasonable question.) After more urging from her, I wrote it – Two Winters in a Tipi. Then I wrote a historical fiction trilogy based upon a lifetime of research on Wyatt Earp. Also, I put out a four-volume series on Cherokee survival skills and environmental education in general. Those 8 books have one thing in common: They were all based on existing facts. The memoir was full of true events that I experienced. The Earp books described a life with events pretty well documented. The nature books dove into the realities of historical skills and the complexities of Nature.

And all this is what makes my next step in publishing a special one for me. "Indigo Heaven" is a novel spawned from the simple love of creating and writing. There was no time-line or outline to follow. It’s a leap off the cliff of tangible truths into the freedom of wide open prose. This is really the genre for which I am best equipped. "Indigo Heaven" is like a newborn baby of unknown heritage. I will watch with interest to see what it grows up to be.

This book, like all my completed novels, might best be described as a prayer of gratitude, because there is no possession I own that I treasure more than creativity. Every day I express my thanks for it. With each publication of a book, that sentiment lives on forever. What a nice feeling that is.

So here comes the first of many novels. Fifteen years ago I struggled to get a manuscript read by an editor. This year, 4 of my works make their debut into the world of literature.

My prayer of gratitude is multiplied by 4.
By the way, I rewrote that first novel – the one that burned up. It is unpublished. Maybe one day . . .
Indigo Heaven