It began the week I met the young Deaf man and his sister at summer camp. I knew very little Sign Language beyond the alphabet, and when I first observed this sibling pair communicating, I was fascinated. In an auditorium holding hundreds of teenagers, this quiet brother sat watching as his sister translated the worship music and preaching. Her hands shaped sweeping words, and I longed to know how to shape them too. More importantly, how to understand the people behind this language. During that week, both brother and sister showed me some of these words, and it became a comradery and a tradition that I looked forward to every summer.
Years after those camp adventures, after I had taken several semesters of Sign Language, I pulled up a blank document and wrote down a title for a new Appalachian romance—Sons of Blackbird Mountain.
Beyond those four words I knew nothing of the tale. I knew not who would walk its pages or where the journey might lead, but it seemed destined to hold the taste of summer because just like that, so rose the treehouse in the woods with its white flag flickering on the breeze. I heard the thundering footsteps of Thor, the contagious laughter of Haakon, and the calm, steady wisdom of Jorgan. Ida’s smile beamed from where she sat in her rocking chair, and thousands of trees rose up from the earth, branches twisting into place, filling the air with the fragrance of ripening fruit. Viking legends whispered in on the wind even as the days of boyhood faded into memory.
Then I saw Aven trudging up the hillside with her carpetbag in hand where she first met the man who watched—instead of heard—what she was saying.
So began the journey of writing a character that challenged me in heart-deep ways as a writer. When it came to writing a man who had almost no traditional dialogue, each scene offered new and intriguing challenges. As a writer, I considered alternate ways to get his voice onto the page. Thor’s humble, unassuming ways made it an absolute pleasure to think outside the box, and in truth, he rather showed me the way.
To do his character justice, I expanded my study of ASL beyond the modern courses I’d taken and began an investigation of the Deaf in the nineteenth century. This included documented testimonies of students who were taught Oralism, to the history of Deaf education in the late 1800s. All of this led me to an 1883 memoir written by Alexander Graham Bell, whose life’s work not only involved the invention of the telephone but, as the son of a Deaf woman, a zeal to teach the Deaf to read lips and speak. Bell’s methods and opinions remain controversial to this day. Some students responded well to the teachings and rigorous lessons, while those who didn’t were known as oral failures. This was one of the reasons Thor was up in the oak tree that day, longing for home, his words rooted only in his hands when his Da came to fetch him. It was a tragic day that propelled Thor into a new realm of pain: one he tried to allay with a jar of cider only to discover the emptiness was unquenchable.
For some of us, our pain is similar to Thor’s. In other ways, we’re not so different than Aven as she climbed up that mountain, holding onto a budding hope. Isn’t it just like the promise of God to not give us one without the other?
Oh the joy that lies around the bend if we open our hearts, deepen our trust, and jump into the brave unknowns knowing God awaits. My heart fills with hope as I imagine the young sailor who still yearns to do the same. His journey has just begun, and I hope you’ll join me and the rest of the cast as it unfolds in the sequel to Sons of Blackbird Mountain. Oh yes, friends, there is more to come! More romance, more redemption, and a new unfolding of the bond between brothers.
Thank you for spending time with me and the Norgaard family in these pages. I would be honored for you to visit me (and this bunch of colorful characters!) at www.joannebischof.com, where I stay connected with readers on upcoming books, faith, and the writing life.
Thank you for being a part of it,
Joanne