THE IRISH SLAVES

 These SLAVES ARE WHITE.

There is NO "white privilege" - that is a bullshit phrase coined by one sector of society that lives in a continual self-pity cycle.

This accounting is HISTORY.

Live and learn.

***************

The Irish Slave Trade – The Forgotten “White” Slaves The Slaves That Time Forgot.

They came as slaves; vast human cargo transported on tall British ships bound for the Americas. They were shipped by the hundreds of thousands and included men, women, and even the youngest of children. Whenever they rebelled or even disobeyed an order, they were punished in the harshest ways. Slave owners would hang their human property by their hands and set their hands or feet on fire as one form of punishment.

They were burned alive and had their heads placed on pikes in the marketplace as a warning to other captives. We don’t really need to go through all of the gory details, do we? We know all too well the atrocities of the African slave trade. But, are we talking about African slavery? King James II and Charles I also led a continued effort to enslave the Irish. Britain’s famed Oliver Cromwell furthered this practice of dehumanizing one’s next door neighbor. The Irish slave trade began when James II sold 30,000 Irish prisoners as slaves to the New World. His Proclamation of 1625 required Irish political prisoners be sent overseas and sold to English settlers in the West Indies.

By the mid 1600s, the Irish were the main slaves sold to Antigua and Montserrat. At that time, 70% of the total population of Montserrat were Irish slaves. Ireland quickly became the biggest source of human livestock for English merchants. The majority of the early slaves to the New World were actually white. From 1641 to 1652, over 500,000 Irish were killed by the English and another 300,000 were sold as slaves. Ireland’s population fell from about 1,500,000 to 600,000 in one single decade. Families were ripped apart as the British did not allow Irish dads to take their wives and children with them across the Atlantic. This led to a helpless population of homeless women and children. Britain’s solution was to auction them off as well. During the 1650s, over 100,000 Irish children between the ages of 10 and 14 were taken from their parents and sold as slaves in the West Indies, Virginia and New England. In this decade, 52,000 Irish (mostly women and children) were sold to Barbados and Virginia. Another 30,000 Irish men and women were also transported and sold to the highest bidder. In 1656, Cromwell ordered that 2000 Irish children be taken to Jamaica and sold as slaves to English settlers. Many people today will avoid calling the Irish slaves what they truly were: Slaves. They’ll come up with terms like “Indentured Servants” to describe what occurred to the Irish.

However, in most cases from the 17th and 18th centuries, Irish slaves were nothing more than human cattle. As an example, the African slave trade was just beginning during this same period. It is well recorded that African slaves, not tainted with the stain of the hated Catholic theology and more expensive to purchase, were often treated far better than their Irish counterparts. African slaves were very expensive during the late 1600s (50 Sterling). Irish slaves came cheap (no more than 5 Sterling). If a planter whipped or branded or beat an Irish slave to death, it was never a crime. A death was a monetary setback, but far cheaper than killing a more expensive African.

The English masters quickly began breeding the Irish women for both their own personal pleasure and for greater profit. Children of slaves were themselves slaves, which increased the size of the master’s free workforce. Even if an Irish woman somehow obtained her freedom, her kids would remain slaves of her master. Thus, Irish moms, even with this new found emancipation, would seldom abandon their kids and would remain in servitude. In time, the English thought of a better way to use these women (in many cases, girls as young as 12) to increase their market share: The settlers began to breed Irish women and girls with African men to produce slaves with a distinct complexion.

These new “mulatto” slaves brought a higher price than Irish livestock and, likewise, enabled the settlers to save money rather than purchase new African slaves. This practice of interbreeding Irish females with African men went on for several decades and was so widespread that, in 1681, legislation was passed “forbidding the practice of mating Irish slave women to African slave men for the purpose of producing slaves for sale.” In short, it was stopped only because it interfered with the profits of a large slave transport company. England continued to ship tens of thousands of Irish slaves for more than a century. Records state that, after the 1798 Irish Rebellion, thousands of Irish slaves were sold to both America and Australia.

There were horrible abuses of both African and Irish captives. One British ship even dumped 1,302 slaves into the Atlantic Ocean so that the crew would have plenty of food to eat. There is little question that the Irish experienced the horrors of slavery as much (if not more in the 17th Century) as the Africans did. There is, also, very little question that those brown, tanned faces you witness in your travels to the West Indies are very likely a combination of African and Irish ancestry. In 1839, Britain finally decided on it’s own to end it’s participation in Satan’s highway to hell and stopped transporting slaves. While their decision did not stop pirates from doing what they desired, the new law slowly concluded THIS chapter of nightmarish Irish misery.

But, if anyone, black or white, believes that slavery was only an African experience, then they’ve got it completely wrong. Irish slavery is a subject worth remembering, not erasing from our memories. But, where has this ever been taught in our public (and PRIVATE) schools???? Where are stories of Irish Slavery in the history books? Why is it so seldom discussed? Do the memories of hundreds of thousands of Irish victims merit more than a mention from an unknown writer? Or is their story to be one that their English pirates intended: have the Irish story utterly and completely disappear as if it never happened. None of the Irish victims ever made it back to their homeland to describe their ordeal.

These are the lost slaves; the ones that time and biased history books-conveniently forgot-By John Martin

9-11 NIGHTMARE

Remember how dubbya stood before the mics and dared islamic devotees to "come and get us"?

Remember how swiftly that dare was answered with the attack on the Twin Towers?

Remember where you were when that attack happened?

Remember who you frantically called to see if they were out of harm's way?

Remember how Americans came together on September 11, 2001?

Remember how you swore love, loyalty, and unity to family members you hadn't seen in decades; and vowed terrorists would never again attack America?

Remember how quickly you forgot EVERYTHING as time moved forward and life's entanglements spun its web.

Remember how barak hussain obama was rushed into the Oval Office ... no background credentials; no actual History to point to his Citizenship and the right to sit in the Oval Office: to question this was {racist}. For 8 long, and torturous years barak hussain obama attacked America/Americans from the Presidential Seat: he suddenly shed his "Christian" skin, and blithely showed his muslim skin, ideology, and agenda. Again, to question this {sudden} turn around, would label you as a racist ... and Christians would be labeled Domestic Terrorists. The US Military STILL has Christians labeled as terrorists in their handbook manuals.

Remember how the obamanite craze consummed (and continues to consume) DC, the underbelly of society, and the entertainment industry? barak hussain obama's agendas (none of them Laws, just a deep-seated agenda) still manipulate DC, the underbelly of society, and the entertainment industry. Once the destructive fungus that thrives on decay sets in ... it's very hard to stop the spread.

Now Congress & the White House is boldly seated with terrorists, that 'take a knee' to terrorist agendas, and openly applaud cherry picked terrorists to set American cities on fire.

America is in a downward spiral.

Bring to mind, NOW, how to question ANYTHING DC ... or local governing obamanites decree ... is "racist", and to question the motives behind the unlawful and ANTI-American (middle eastern 'refugees' and south of the border illegal aliens are rushed into our Country WITHOUT background or medical checks - you know, for COVID: apparently covid only strikes white, Christian, unmasked American Citizens) mandates is "insurrection" & "enemy of the State" behavior

We are attacked at every level for being Americans: DC had decreed that our skin color defines us, our Faith targets us, and our gender retards us. If our children/grandchildren have light skin tone, and hazel eyes, they are told they must publicly repent of their {racist} global hatred. American males are taught in school (and in obamanite leaning households) to hate their penis's, while American females are taught to murder their babies, and worship their vaginas.

In DC, the obamanites have erased gender and banned the use of "he" and "she" ... WHILE demanding Americans vote for a "Woman" President (harris, like a vampire is standing in the West Wing waiting for biden to die - and with that neck, she may actually be a he: no win there).

Science is pushed forward as the only religion recognized in America (islam comes in second) - to question these 2 things is to face unemployment, housing in "progressive" neighborhoods, refusal of medical care (if a doctor is your choice), schooling (if "higher education" is your choice), church attendance in churches with daycares on their premises (these churches are State businesses). It will divide families and end friendships.

The obamanite goal is to divide and conquer: it's the muslim way.

What happened that September morning, 20 years ago, will most certainly happen again. It may not happen in the same place - or in the same manner: but it WILL CERTAINLY happen again as long as we have terrorist supporters in Congress, in local governing offices, and a delusional moron in the Oval Office (again, rushed into Office without a real Vote), fiddling and twiddling his thumbs (and taking orders from barak hussain obama), while America burns (from the East Coast to the West Coast), and secret military deals are made with the taliban.

9-11 is not History ... it's an ongoing nightmare.

HISTORY

I had breakfast again with a friend – and I don’t say that lightly: David really is a friend.

While we ate, we talked about history. 

The history of 2 counties – the changes of Wahkiakum and Cowlitz over the last century and a half, previous generations, and past decades.

The history of our 55-year friendship; the history of our families … and how they overlap the counties’ history (I’m fairly new to the area, not rooted in Washington History like he and Bob are/were; so, I didn’t have much to add 😉). I listened – and commented occasionally, but generally I just listened and learned about the changes he and Bob saw happen; and I take for granted because they were in place when I moved to Skamokawa in the Summer of 1966.

I was intrigued by the history of Ocean Beach Highway, and the pictures he showed me.

I like learning about History – I like learning about the places that have touched my life – and that Bob and David saw change before I moved to Washington: this morning was an education. And I was an avid student 😊

After we finished breakfast, and went our sperate ways … I came home and watered my garden area, and the 2 front flowerbeds.

I was delighted to see a praying mantis in both areas: the last time I saw one was in Pennsylvania, when I was 6 years old.

Green Praying Mantis in the Cabbage Leaf Begonias.

Brown Praying Mantis in the veggie garden area.

It is said that seeing a praying mantis is considered good luck – and because of its “praying hands” aspect, the appearance of one signifies that Angels are watching over you.

Little did I realize, as I appreciated them … how true that concept would be in my life, today.

Then because the morning was still early, I decided to drive Ocean Beach Highway as far as Chinook to see if the pelicans were still hanging around: and view the river pilings in a whole new light – and a new eye’s view.

David said the tunnel that runs under Fort Columbia used to be a tunnel for train tracks; and he showed me a picture of a wooden roadway (Highway 101 – paved today and in the tunnel; but originally built over the river, on wooden trestles) that he said circled the rocky bluff the Fort is perched atop.

(https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ilwaco_Railway_and_Navigation_Company)

I see those pilings in the river when I drive that stretch of road!

I always assumed they were fish cannery and wharf supports.

The picture was exciting. 

Like I said: I love History 😊

There was extensive road work all along Ocean Beach Highway: there were three stops along the way (only 2-minute waits, except for the KM road work – that was a 4-minute wait). The first pilot car was between County Line, and Munson’s … the second was at Cathlamet; and the third was on the downside of the KM, a bit before Fossil Creek.

On my way to Chinook to see if the pelicans are still around.

Road work on the downside of the KM; near Fossil Creek.

A lot of noise. A lot of posturing ... not a lot of road work being done.

River pilings that used to lead a wooden roadway around the cliff that Ft. Columbia is perched atop;Chinook.

I got to Chinook about 3 PM; and all I saw were Seagulls, Cormorants, and a flock of Loons – no Pelicans. I must have missed their visitation window.

On my way back home from Chinook, I also stopped in Knappton, to talk to Bob’s cousin Lori to pick her brain about where Frankfort used to be located (access has been gated since the late 1970’s, and the forest has reclaimed the land): David said just out of Naselle … I said I thought Bob and I had ‘gone in from Eden Valley area somewhere’.

Bob’s great-grandparents lived in Frankfort: Grandpa Smalley lived there as a young boy before the family moved to Eden Valley: I knew Lori would know the family history … and know exactly where Frankfurt had thrived before the forest swallowed it up.

Researching the ‘Bean Creek’ at home, I noticed names on the Maps that are recorded in Bob’s Family History: Frank Born Creek, Crooked Creek.

MAPS for Print: https://www.topozone.com/washington/pacific-wa/stream/bean-creek/

 More excitement!

Bean Creek; the Smalley side of the family had Bean links - was this creek named after a family member?

Bean Creek, Knappton-WA

I was right – David was wrong about the establishment of the settlement town: David said a fishing community – I said a logging community. I believe both were correct; but logging was the primary purpose for the settlement.

Bob’s family was a logging family – and Bob’s family homesteaded at Frankfort and Rocky Point, before they homesteaded in Eden Valley.

The road to Frankfort started off Sisson Creek; then tied into a logging road, in Naselle. Rocky Point, where Bob’s relatives also lived, was a little further down that road. I never visited Rocky Point.

Neither Frankfort, nor Rocky Point are accessible – and because access was cut off … they faded into the murky depths of memory; alive only to those who remember them from long ago.

I was last standing in the ruins of Frankfort, with Bob, in 1974. I was imagining how it might have been when it was alive with people and purpose.

Frankfort; I always loved spending afternoons in Frankfort when Bob and I would picnic there in the summer of 1974.

Sisson Creek

Frankfort; from left to right - Sarah, Myrtle, Martha (mother) and HENRY (son of Frank) SMALLEY.

Eden Valley, WA

Smalley Homestead; Eden Valley. Lori and her husband live in the Smalley acreage, today.

Frankfort, WA: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frankfort,_Washington

I was wrong – David was right about the location. I don’t mind: History has to be right when a person thinks on it. I only remember the remnants of the place when I went there with Bob; I really didn’t pay that much attention to how we got there. And Bob always drove 150 different routes to get to 1 place, so I am justifiably confused when it comes to actual locations, unless I drive there myself 😉

I was glad for the History Lori shared with me 😊

I’ll have to let him know that next time we share breakfast.

The radio talking heads are doing their damndest to force everyone to get biden’s vaccine: ((((NO!)))) – what do those deadheads not understand about {no} and {it’s my body: my choice}.

Still refusing the vaccine; I don't believe anything coming out of the obamanite DC. I don't get the flu shot ... and I won't get the vaccine. MY LIFE - MY CHOICE.

Driving closer to home, I turned off at the Elochoman Road to take the Beaver Creek Road route, because I wanted to avoid road work pinging gravel damage to the Highlander.

It seemed so logical and simple.

I had no idea how long the drive would be dragged out when I started my adventure.

Nearing the top of Beaver Creek Road, I saw the ‘Bradley ORV Trailhead Sign, and thought “Why not? There’s still a lot of daylight, and I don’t think Bob and I were on the road that long last time we drove it.”

Bradley Trailhead.

So, I turned onto it, listening to the radio and taking in the sights.

This place is part of my history with Bob.

It had been a while since we’d been on that road – I was taking my time familiarizing myself with the area.

Adventure ...

Horses.

I stayed left; the main trail.

Here ... I stayed right. I was not lured by the sideroads.

An hour’s drive up the trailhead, I reached the summit, and wasn’t sure how long the drive would loop around; it had been a couple years since Bob and I had been there. So, I decided to turn back and come another day. It was 5:15 PM by then, and sunset was around 8:30 PM – I wanted to be home before dusk.

I got out of the car and scanned the horizon, enjoying the river view.

Cresting the summit of Bradley's Hill.

The Columbia River & the Pacific Ocean in the distance.

Litterbugs will have this trailhead, too, gated off soon ...

I had kicked up quite a dust storm driving that gravel road: the Highland would need a long wash tomorrow. 

AND THEN, 15 minutes on the downside of the summit …

I heard a thumping near the back end of the Highlander.

At first, I thought it was loose gravel hitting the underside of the car; so, I didn’t think too much of it – at first. As I continued forward, I just didn’t like the sound I was hearing.

I stayed in the worn tire marks on the road to stay off the gravel: I slowed down and rolled the window down to get a better listen.

The sound was the same no matter which side of the road I drove – the semi-smoothed ruts, or the gravel … the thunk-thunk-thunking continued, and it concerned me. I thought, “Okay, that’s not sounding a whole lot like gravel; I don’t remember gravel sounding like that when we were up here with Bob’s 4x.”

Granted the Highlander sits closer to the ground than a 4x pickup does. But something just sounded {off}, and I couldn’t figure it out.

I parked the car and got out to see what I could see.

I was still thinking spraying gravel may have been pelting the backend of the Highlander, pitting paint.

I didn’t see any pelting pits in the paint.

BUT I DID SEE SOMETHING THAT DEFLATED MY SPIRITS NEARLY AS LOW AS WHAT MY EYES WERE SEEING.

I was not thinking lady-like thoughts!

I stared at the seriously flat tire for several minutes.

No quick patch-job this time. A new tire is needed.

I looked at the waning sun – and mentally calculated how long I had until sunset.

I thought of all the times Yeshua has been prompting me to leave the past in the past; and start living in the now and making memories in the present … and I am doing that. But, I am also letting past memories lead me down the primrose path – and anyone going that route knows where it eventually leads: to dicey situations.

Logical and simple was suddenly a complicated mess. 

I don’t remember a single flat tire incident in the forest with Bob.

Ever. 

In 44 years … not a single flat tire, in the forest.

I know there were flat tires: just not in the fricking forest.

'This is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into this time, Val' ...

I looked in the hatchback end of the highlander and lifted the rubber cover mat: I did not see a spare tire … I didn’t even see a space for a spare tire: the tools needed to change a tire were in plain sight – but there was no spare tire.

I bent down as low as I could, and studied the underside of the car.

I did not see a spare tire. 

I called my guy friends and asked a huge favor. 

Leave the Past IN the past.

Of all the places to have a flat tire: in the middle of nowhere – a full hour’s drive into the middle of nowhere.

I have hiked for hours – I have hiked 5 miles.

But I know that an hour’s drive is quite a bit further than an hour’s walk: I knew I would not make it out of the forest before nightfall. I opted to stay with the Highlander.

I asked how much a tow truck would cost: a couple hundred dollars was quoted. I have the $$$ … but not at the ready; I could pay tomorrow – but not tonight.

I didn’t think the tow truck driver would be that gracious.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfQuvrlnOdo)

David said he’d come; and see what he could do. 

Thank the Lord, my friends love me.

Thank God I didn’t take any side spurs.

I stuck to the main trail road.

Lesson learned.

I read my book until David arrived (I was an hour’s drive into the forest – and David was at least an hour’s drive away, at home) … and he brought the {calvary} with him: a friend named Ed, who was also helpful.

Bradley's ORV Area from Longview; 43 mins.

The Highlander was inspected.

The spare tire was found; Ed spotted it tucked under the car’s underside; it had to be lowered by a giant wingnut apparatus.

Both fellas got the car lifted and spare tire changed out.

I watched ... I would not have been able to do it, even if I knew how to do it. I know there are women who can ... and all I can say, is : "More power to 'em."

But, for me: I know my limitations.

This is one of them.

Spare tire in place.

And we were all amazed at how torn up the original tire was.

That tire was heavy!

Thank God for the strength of men.

I was glad this happened fairly close to home!

I am glad Angels were watching over me.

I was glad the calvary was available, and had arrived 😊

The original tire had been thoroughly shredded; it had caught on an inside piece of the axle, after the blowout. You'd think I would have heard this blow out! I didn't hear a thing, except the clunking that sounded like gravel being sprayed on the undercarriage.

I learned a lesson today: I’m too darned old at 64½, and too petite (a chunky petite, but petite just the same) to be dealing with stuff like a flat tire on a logging road, miles from civilization.

My friends; and family who care to be concerned, will be happy to hear that there will be no more excursions like the one I had tonight.

I can’t afford to have this happen again. My guy friends are happy to help me, this time: but, I don’t think it will go over so well if there were a next time.

So, from now on I’ll just stay on the paved roads … in civilized areas … for all my next adventures.

Yeshua has been patiently guiding me away from the past memories, and gently leading me into new life adventures that will make new memories.

And I have been walking the center line, trying to find balance in both.

I believe I have mentioned in previous posts that Elohim has a way of getting my attention, and nudging me back on track ... when I am dawdling instead of obeying.

Tonight, my attention was snagged with a flat tire spanking.

I am never going to hear the end of this little snafu from my friends who are praying I get married again - now they will pray for a mechanic.

Cautiously driving the trailhead road with the skinny spare tire, back to the main Beaver Creek Road tonight, while the fading sunlight bathed the darkening forest in a pretty shadowy crimson light filtered through the tree trunks as the sun slipped over the horizon; I could almost hear Yeshua and Bob – at the same time – asking, “Have you learned anything, Val?”

Yes; yes, I have. 

Solo Lobo ventures on dirt roads are now history.

I hate being spanked 😉

David and Ed followed me in David’s truck; out of the forest and to Heron Pointe, to make sure I arrived home with no more snafu’s – I am thankful and deeply grateful.

And because there was a spare tire … I did not have to leave my car in Les Schwab’s parking lot until tomorrow morning: Frank does not have to drive me there tomorrow – I can drive myself 😊

God is faithful.

We have history.

This whole thing could have turned out very differently; my eternal ticket did not get punched today.

Job 1