A Market for Bees

1/26/12

Isaiah T. Silkwood

Writing Strands Level # 7, Lesson # 6, Situation # 3

What Makes It What It Is:

A Market for Bees

(Excerpt from the journal of Richard Canterhaven)

            It is Tuesday morning, July 7^th 1770. People are beginning their congregation on

N. Kings Way

. These people are not the swarm of bees that will come thickly through to snatch up nectar later on today. These people are the stems of the flowers that support this meadow that is King’s Way Street Market. They are carefully arranging the petals of their flowers. That is, the appearance of their booth that they purchased earlier this year. They are hoping that their decorations and colors will appeal to any passing bees and draw them in to sample the nectar that is their hard wrought merchandise.

            I too am a stem. Though I am a smaller offshoot of the main stem my master Marice Vaughn. I am his apprentice. I have been growing under his shadow for 2 years now. If I might say modestly I have become a very good shoemaker. It is good that I am telling this to my journal. For if my mother was to find me upholding my own work like this, she would give me a stern scolding. “Do the best that you can and let others praise your work,” she would say. I am sure there is a great deal of wisdom in her words. She was the best embroiderer in all of Philadelphia, or so some have said. I am 19 now. Though I could say a great deal of good about my father, the freshness of his passing is still too great. Mother insists that we will see him again, in heaven…

The Makings of a Patriot

1/20/12

Isaiah T. Silkwood

Writing Strands: Level # 7, Lesson # 6, Situation # 2

What Makes It What It Is:

The Makings of a Patriot

Hans Antonio stood breathless in the narrow alleyway between a two-story apartment building and one of the Boston port, authority offices. It was one of the few authorities left in Boston not under the command of the British Regulars. Since the Boston tea party the local populace, and their dealings, had felt more pressure from the British Regular’s presence that ever before. Nevertheless Bosto ’s inhabitants trudged doggedly onward, unwilling to give up their lives or occupations. However some thought that they were in an unpreventable and deserved British occupation. Hans did not think that way.

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            Hans was not content to live under British rule. After all a country more that 3000 miles away had no right to control the lives and well-beings of the colonies’ people. Hans was against taxation without representation and expressed it in many ways. One of those ways could be clarified by the expensive painting that he had tucked away under his long coat. It wasn’t a large painting, being 21”x 16” inches plus a border, but it still wasn’t completely concealed by his large coat. He had taken it from the commander of the British garrison’s quarters and intended to sell it to an English merchant. This was by far the most brazen thing that he had done since participating in the Boston Tea Party.

             Just ahead, in the road beyond the alley, proceeded one of the largest street markets in the colonies. Hans’ partner, Willis Harding, had promised to meet him at a fur vendor’s stall at the end of the street market; however, he had failed to mention which part of the market was the end.