The Role of a Ranch in a Story by Marisa Masterson

 

Writing The Lawyer on the Texas Ranch began with a single image: a woman determined not to repeat the mistakes of her past, standing in a sunlit barn and deciding whether to stay or go. That image led to questions about what it takes to rebuild a life after marriage has become a prison of its own making — and how an unexpected journey can change a person’s priorities.

Research played a surprisingly practical role. To portray ranch life credibly, attention to daily routines was essential: feeding schedules, horse care, the physical layout of stables, and the rhythm of chores. These details make the world tangible and give emotional scenes a grounded sense of realism. 

Another important layer was the theme of freedom. The central line, "I will not trade my freedom for a loveless life," echoed in early drafts and became a guiding principle for Sybil. That sentiment shaped scenes, from quiet confrontations to moments of tenderness, forcing the narrative to ask what each character is willing to surrender and what they refuse to lose.

Balancing mystery with romance was a structural choice. I wanted the search for Stubby and the missing horses to create external tension that mirrored internal conflict. A slow-burn romantic arc allowed trust to grow organically, while the mystery provided plot momentum and occasional danger. Merging these elements required careful pacing so that neither the romance nor the investigation overshadowed the other.

Finally, the setting — Texas ranchland — was chosen for its emotional resonance. Wide-open landscapes create opportunities for introspection and isolation, while small-town networks remind characters that choices ripple across relationships. Writing those contrasts helped shape the novel’s atmosphere: quiet, practical, and full of possibilities.

In the end, The Lawyer on the Texas Ranch grew from a desire to tell a story about second chances that feels earned. It’s a book about learning to trust after betrayal, finding love without losing yourself, and discovering that sometimes the bravest thing is to open your hand and take a risk.

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The Dreaded Hair Cut by Marisa Masterson

https://www.reddit.com/r/RandomVictorianStuff/comments
/1ipe4zp/women_with_unusual_very_short_
hair_photos_from/

Oh, the tragedy of it! My vanity rises to the forefront and wants to scream when I see it in the mirror--the terrible haircut! Yes, I made the mistake of allowing an untested hair stylist cut my hair. Not only cut it, but add layers and bangs. 

The experience started me thinking about cabinet cards I have seen. These stiff cardboard photos have stumped me in the past. Why, in a time when women wore long hair, did I see the images of women with harshly chopped or very short hair?

Was it a trend? Research immediately contradicted that possibility. Other than a movement in the Confederate South during that war, women did not purposefully cut their hair. So, why had these women shorn their locks?

Strangely, kerosene was one reason for women to chop off their hair. If a person's head became infested with lice, she would apply kerosene. A lot of it, too. That ruined the hair, and cutting it was required.

Desperation provided a second reason for short hair. In the nineteenth century and earlier, high fevers were difficult to treat. The common practice was to shave the sufferer's head, releasing the heat. 

A third and horrible reason for short hair had to do with institutionalizing a woman. It was common for women in mental institutions to have their hair cut very short. One more dehumanizing aspect connected with mental diseases.

The cause for the bob was not always horrendous. In the 1880s Chicago, some women deliberately cut their hair very short. Then they added a tightly curled front. In fact, President Grover Cleveland's sister was one pioneer of the look. This trend produced an outrage with people saying it would cause moral ruin.

By the end of the nineteenth century, more women cut their hair. They were the forerunners of the 1920s fad for shingled hair. These ladies needed to survive, to provide for themselves by working in factories. Shorter hair was convenient and cooler. 

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Rigby's Roar is available. Free with Kindle Unlimited!!

In Colorado’s mountains, a professor turns mountain man as he investigates a dying river and faces angry miners, a woman claiming to be his bride, and a forced marriage while fighting to save the wilderness he loves.

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BENT AND FORGOTTEN SAWS--Does anyone even remember the meaning of saw? by Marisa Masterson

 Not once. Not twice, But each person who read my book in advance objected to it! Saw.

It's the word I learned to describe colloquial sayings. Vintage sayings were old saws. How about you? Is that familiar?

These sayings pepper my work in progress. The heroine, Sybil, falls back on them often to express herself. Since it is a piece of historical fiction, I dug for forgotten saws.

It seems an age since I've heard someone say, "Heaven's to Betsy." Who was Betsy, even?

When did someone last tell you not to take any wooden nickels or not to get your knickers in a twist? I believe 'undies in a bunch' replaced that one.

An I found even older sayings, ones I have never heard used. Here is one, 'some pumpkins,' as in people who think they are a big deal. Is that new to you as well? Another is 'not by a jugful'--meant to show something or someone was not a big deal.

I like this one--pine overcoat. Can you guess its meaning? It's a coffin. Or how about 'giggle mug' referring to a person who always smiles? 

These great phrases that capture a different time and place, but there is a problem. Should I use them since they no longer hold meaning for us?

If I do include them in my book, I will weave the meaning into my characters' conversations. Not adding the flavor of that era brought to life by language would be a shame, at least to my way of thinking. 

So, here's to an old chestnut!

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Rigby had a dream job studying plant life in the beautiful Colorado mountains, but when the river turns yellow and the plants start dying, he knows something has gone terribly wrong. Determined to uncover the truth, he heads to the nearby mine to investigate. But what he finds there is chaos and tension bubbling beneath the surface. 

As a professor from New York, Rigby is already a target for the angry miners, and now he must navigate the dangerous waters of a polluted river and a potential marriage to a stranger. Will he be able to protect his beloved mountains and his own future?

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DO YOU EXPECT A HARVEST? by Marisa Masterson

 

Which hymn? I faced the question last year when I joined a multi-author project, Hymns to Stir the Hearstrings.

I knew I wanted to write a frontier story. What would draw someone to the West? Wheat! And Bringing in the Sheaves, a much-loved hymn from my childhood, became my song for the series.

The lyrics of that hymns were created by Knowles Shaw. This musician inherited a violin and a piece of advice from his father when the man died during Shaw’s childhood. “Prepare to meet your God.”

It took him years more before the significance of that—and the Holy Spirit—took hold of his life. After he dedicated himself to preaching, he became known as Indiana’s Singing Evangelist.

Knowles Shaw based this hymn on Psalm 126:5,6. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.

Sheaves. These are the wheat bundled together but not yet harvested. It waits until it is brought in, and then the potential can be seen. The seeds on the heavy heads of wheat are removed to be ground and made into flour.

In the hymn, the speaker looks toward the potential. He sows knowing that there will be sheaves. He has faith in God’s outcome.

A special thanks goes to https://thescottspot.wordpress.com/2016/04/14/bringing-in-the-sheaves-written-in-1874/

New! Available April 8, 2026...

SO YOU WANT A LIP-SMACKING HAM by Marisa Masterson

Fall on the farm. The harvest is in. The weather has taken a turn, with mornings growing cold. It's time. Time? To do what? 

In my next new release, The Stranded Rancher, a farm becomes the setting for my book. For my characters, fall means butchering. It was time to prepare meat for the winter. With no freezers, two things became essential—as I discovered in my research. The family needed a smokehouse and a pork barrel. Both allowed for the preservation of fresh pork.

I was especially interested in the steps my character would follow to make hams. As I read on it, a discovered a type of sugar that was new to me. Muscovado. The clumpy sugar-making byproduct was cheaper, though harder to work with since it had to be separated to use. Cooks needed hammers to break it apart!

From The Stranded Rancher:

She had placed large covered crocks in the root cellar behind the house. Jack even shoveled a path to that cellar. After she washed the hams, she headed to the kitchen. 

The cellar stayed cool. Meat would not spoil there, and the hams would soak in the brine for a week, covered to stay clean and free from worms or bugs. Next, she worked with the pork belly. This, she washed, and then she rubbed pepper and muscovado into meat that would become bacon. 

Since it was the least expensive sugar, she had urged Caroline to buy muscovado rather than the more refined brown sugar. Both sugars contained molasses. Muscovado was a by-product of the sugar process. It was clumpy, which forced her to knead it with her hands before she rubbed it into the washed pork belly. Sybil’s shoulders ached by the time the meat rested inside the small barrels. 

Prior to hammering the lid onto the barrel, she poured salt over the dry rub already coating the meat. She moved the containers onto the porch. Gus would carry them to the cellar. At least, she did not have to do that step. In a few days, they would open the barrels. Jack planned to light a fire in the smokehouse and hang the bacon above it.

So, the secret to the hams? Sugar, time, and patience while the ham rested in a brine. I am glad I can head to the store to get my hams and not do the butchering!

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Jack and Caroline Poston are stranded. Her pregnancy makes trailing to Texas impossible. Instead, they head to her hometown to claim the farm left to her. A horrible surprise waits for them.

Jack can't help but wonder why such a pleasant man would cheat his child out of her property as he tours the farm with him. Caroline’s father legally claims her inheritance. He makes it clear that he does not intend to return it to her.

In a short amount of time, Jack realizes the true problem lies with Caroline’s stepmother. The scheming woman controls the farm. She refuses to leave and does not offer a place for them to stay. And as mysterious accidents begin occurring. Jack realizes that more than land is at stake.

Amidst the turmoil, Jack must turn to his estranged brother for help. To uncover the true villain threatening his wife, he must mend the rift between them.

Will Jack be able to keep Caroline and their patchwork family safe? Can he gain control of their new home, or will they be forced to leave once again?

Read the book's first chapter for free--https://dl.bookfunnel.com/ay4p1x9zo6

MY FIRE IS BIGGER THAN YOUR FIRE! by Marisa Masterson

Fire, elemental and necessary. And agressive and deadly. 

from the Peshtigo Fire Museum

As a girl in Wisconsin, I learned about that horrible night in October, 1871. An intense blaze raced through the North Woods with deadly consequences. In fact, it is considered the deadliest wildfire in recorded history.

It began with the winds. That night they gusted over 100 miles per hour. Those gusts found a fire purposely set to clear land, the easiest way to get rid of brush. Sadly, the extended dry season had turned the area around the brush into fodder for the fire.

I include glimpses of that night in my fictional book Compromised:

As she leaned her head back, she again sighed. The man across from her arched his brow. To ignore him, she shut her eyes. That allowed memories to flood her mind.

They suffered through a dry summer. The drought continued into the fall. Around Peshtigo, fields and forests crackled from it.

Someone had decided to burn brush. It was the best, easiest way to clear the land. Sudden winds grabbed at the fire and used it as a deadly weapon. The winds hurled it at her town. The blaze murdered more than two thousand people as gusts drove it.

The late fall cold sent shivers through her, bringing her out of the memory. She tugged the woolen cloak closer around her shoulders and fingered the ends of her scarf. Across from her, a throat cleared.

She glanced up to meet the other passenger’s sympathetic gaze. He offered a gray army blanket. “You want this, miss. I’d gladly give it up if you need it.”

Sympathy. The expression in his eyes repelled her. Too often, she glimpsed that look instead of true understanding from people. Her lips tightened, and she struggled to force words past them.

As he offered her the blanket, she shook her head. Purposefully, she turned her face away from him. After weeks of sympathy, Gracie wanted to scream if the merest hint of the emotion flashed in her direction.

No kind words or caring gesture softened her situation. Mother. Father. They were dead, and no words could make their passing tolerable.

Again, the cold sent tremors through her body. An icy wind blew and reminded her of the terrible night only one month earlier. It had created an almost unbelievable contrast for the desperate people trying to escape the fire. Icy gusts had chilled them while the hot fire raged ever closer to the river.

And there, she had found questionable safety, standing in the Peshtigo River. At the warning cry, “Fire! Fire!” she had grabbed for her cloak and scarf. She stood, shivering in the cold water as the wool grew heavy with it. Her mother, clothed only in her nightgown and wrapper, had held tightly to Gracie’s hand while they watched Father run into the blaze.

Mother had pleaded, “Stay with us. Come into the water!”

He turned to shake his head. No words. No goodbye. Without words of comfort or explanation, her father raced toward the blaze, risking his life to save others. 

Burning of Peshtigo, Rust Belt Magazine

The enormity of the disaster, I fear, was understated in my novel. The blaze gobbled up the forest. It consumed small communities and the largest town in the area--Peshtigo. When it was over, one million (plus more) acres had been destroyed. Worse, 2,500 people died--five times the number killed in the Great Chicago Fire.

Why don't you know about this disaster? The Great Chicago Fire, that's why.

Chicago in Flames, Currier & Ives

 

That city's fire happened at the same time as the Peshtigo Fire. A city burning grabbed the headlines away from the North Woods. In the end though, five times more deaths happened in Northern Wisconsin than in Chicago.

My heroine resembles how I imagine many were after the fire. She is a person in shock and struggling to go on with life. Little wonder that we discover, as the story progresses, that she fears the fireplace.

Find out more in Compromised. Click here to find the book.

A THANKSGIVING SLEIGH RIDE? by Marisa Masterson

 

Imagine the mounds of snow. Crisp air hits your lungs as you breathe. The horse waits, shifting so that the sleigh bells sound.

https://www.walmart.com/ip/Designer-Greetings-
Winter-Sleigh-Ride-Vintage-Christmas-Card/706102857

One man described this exact scene to celebrate Thanksgiving. Yes, that holiday--not Christmas. Jingle Bells by James Lloyd Pierpont is really a Thanksgiving song.

Why a sleigh ride on that day? According to legend, Pierpont wanted to write a song to commemorate his town's annual sleigh race. 

And consider that setting. This is not a fun, leisurely ride. It is an intense race:

https://www.metmuseum.org/es/art/collection/search/380479

 

Go it while you're young

Take the girls tonight

Sing this sleighing song

Get a bobtailed bay Two forty for his speed

And hitch him to an open sleigh

And you will take the lead

If you think of a sleigh race, the last line of the above quote makes sense. "Take the lead", as in pull ahead of the other races.

Because the song never once mentions Thanksgiving, it lends itself well to Christmas. It beccomes a nostalgic glimpse into holidays past, to a time long gone.

A great source to learn more--https://unrememberedhistory.com/tag/medford-massachusetts/

A New Release! 

Can they go beyond being compromised to becoming committed sweethearts and a family?

• Marriage of Convenience at Christmas
• Secrets Exposed
• Old West Adventure and Suspense
• Happily-Ever After
• Clean, Wholesome Romance

Click here to discover your next great read!

Gobble! Gobble! Thanksgiving Feasts by Marisa Masterson

 Ah! The turkey. I can easily conjure up the smell of it roasting in the oven. Does it bring to mind Thanksgiving for you, also?

Consider the sound we associate with it. Gobble! Gobble! Have you noticed the double meaning of that in connection with the holiday meal?

We think of it as a sound, true. Also, it is what happens at the meal. And that is one reason turkeys became the food of choice for the special day.

Homer Winslow's view of Thanksgiving

In the nineteenth century, Thanksgiving went from being a regional celebration to a national holiday. Communities would come together to celebrate. Turkeys provided enough meat--much more than chickens--to feed many people. And since it had been an early symbol of the feast, it became the choice for the holiday.

I remember my grandfather speaking about raising turkeys on his farm in the 1930s and 1940s. He would ship them to Chicago. Because of the appetite for the bird, his children received Christmas presents.

So, gobble, gobble up the meal this year and Happy Thanksgiving!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CKCTCKJC

A TRAIL OR A DEATH SENTENCE? by Marisa Masterson

Troubles. What's a plot without them? 

Jack Poston's troubles comes in pairs. He needs to make more than simply $3 a piece for his cattle. His mail-order bride is late arriving.

He must travel through war-torn states to push his cattle northward when no one else is willing to brave the trip from Texas to Missouri in 1865. His late arriving bride insists she come with him. Thus, The Bride on the Shawnee Trail is born. From the book:

“Can’t spend more time on this, Caroline. The boys and I need to drive the animals closer to the river today. We only stopped so I could meet up with you and get the marrying done.”

“Well, it’s done.”

She looked at her boots as she talked. Not a good sign, he was discovering. She always insisted on having her own way when she did that.

Her voice lowered and took on a submissive note. “I’m ready to help Stubby with the
meals.”

Jack took off his Stetson and slapped the new-fangled hat against his leg. The maker had started selling them last year. Already he and two of his men wore their Stetsons daily. No keeping this hat only for good, not when it was such a help against heat and rain.

“Caroline, you need to go to my ranch.”

Before she could argue, the old cook piped into the conversation. “I qu—”

He did not allow Stubby to finish. The man would not go on the cattle drive if he did. With Stubby quitting, Caroline would be forced to learn everything on her own. Jack could not foist that burden onto his new bride. Bad enough she had to start on another trip right after finishing the long ordeal of getting to Texas.

“Alright, Stubby. I surrender.” Jack beat the hat against his thigh once more. 

https://www.truewestmagazine.com/wp-
content/uploads/2013/01/
the-shawnee-trail_
austin-texas_sedalla-missouri.jpg

And what a trail the Shawnee was! The American Civil War all but closed what was also called the Texas Road or the Kansas Trail. In reality, no one drove herds north from Texas in 1865. The cattle drives resumed in 1866, though not peacefully.

While the war had stopped, the battles with unhappy settlers continued. The Texas longhorns brought what was called the Spanish Fever, killing farmers' livestock. Actually from a tick, the longhorns were immune while cows grazing on that same land they crossed were not.

Jayhawkers

Often, vigilantes tried to block herds from entering their land. Drovers learned to skirt those settlers. 

One of the first to resume the drives was a young cowhand named James Daugherty. He joined a cattle drive in the spring of 1866. After more than a thousand miles, he neared the Kansas line with the herd. Anti-slavery vigilantes known as Jayhawkers ambushed in the night, stampeding the longhorns and killing one of the trail hands. Daugherty managed to recover 350 steers and sell them at Fort Scott rather than his original destination. (https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/shawnee-trail)

Six states passed legislation to block the cattle drives in 1867. Because of unrest as well as the risk to the settlers' livestock, the Shawnee trail became obsolete. A new and well-known route resulted--The Chisholm Trail.

Jack Poston longs for more than beans to eat. In need of a wife to cook for him and to tend the chickens, he sends for a mail-order bride. When she arrives later than he expected, it throws his plans into disarray. He must leave for a cattle drive, while she heads to his ranch.

Having lost two grooms, Caroline refuses to lose sight of her new husband. She determines to keep him safe from the unknown danger that lurks on the Shawnee Trail. But, as they face the hardships of the trail, Caroline realizes another real threat follows her.

Will they find a love strong enough to survive the treacherous journey and bring them together, or will danger ultimately tear them apart?

For fans of western romance and suspense, The Bride on the Shawnee Trail is a must-read. Don't miss out on this thrilling tale of love, danger, and survival. Buy now before the price changes!

THAT SWEATER COULD NOT BE WORN by Marisa Masterson

 JC Penney, Sears, even Old Navy. They are the end result of the changing face of a dry goods store. I wonder if a person from 1875 would recognize what, for her, would have been a fabric shop?

Why do I go to Hobby Lobby for fabric instead of JC Penney? Ready-made clothing. The availability of garments purchased off the rack by the 1930s changed what stores carried. And before that? Keep
reading to learn about the sweater.

Women especially needed to be aware of fabric names. They would watch the local paper for advertisements highlighting what new shipments had arrived in either the mercantile (in a rural area) or the dry goods store.

In my Uncertain Sweethearts series, a small town grows over the five years spanning the series. The Transcontinental Railroad, in part, makes that happen. As new residents arrive, they increase the demand for goods in the area. 

In the last addition to the series, I've added a dry goods store. Rather than be in competition with O'Hanlon's Mercantile, the owner focuses on fabrics and notions. 

Can he sell ready-made dresses? Probably not. A local seamstress could be hired to sew a dress if a woman could not sew. Bachelors would go to her for a shirt, if they needed one.

In Aggie Ambushes the Rancher, my main female character dreams of being the seamstress for the small Kansas town. From the book:

With a twist of her head, she cast a longing glance at the open doorway. It represented freedom, a chance at something new. She would go with Aggie, and she would not return to Topeka.

Alice Mackenzie would help her stay in Fox Creek. She could set up a business there, repairing garments and sewing new ones. After all, women could not go to the dry goods store and simply buy a dress. They needed her to create those for them, as Fox Creek had neither a seamstress nor a dress shop.

And she had saved her wages. It would be enough to get her business started. Probably Paul O’Hanlon, the mercantile owner, would give her a discount on fabrics or at least extend her credit to buy what she needed. He understood the importance of a fresh start. After all, he had been a drunk and womanizer until he came face to face with God’s grace and forgiveness.

“Yes,” Ida whispered. “I’ll travel with her to Fox Creek.”

How would this be different in a city? This is where the sweater becomes important.

https://victorianweb.org/painting/
holl/paintings/4.html

 Females known as needle women worked at home, sewing loose-fitting garments and being paid pennies for each piece at the start of the ready-made clothing demand. The sweater assigned them the work and gave them the fabric. Basically, he was a contractor. No doubt, the name came from the root word 'sweat'. The man made the needle women sweat for very little pay, thus his moniker. The pay was so poor that many hardworking families still relied on charity or starved, no matter how hard the adults worked.

No wonder people were willing to escape to the unknown and little in soddies on the prairie. There, they could at least grow their own food. 

 

A woman has a chance at a new life—one she did not know she wanted.

Ida Parton never expects to fall in love with the man she intends to protect her charge from marrying. As a chaperone, it is her duty to save Aggie from marrying the notorious drinker, Clint Evans. But upon returning to Fox Creek, Ida discovers Clint is not the man she remembers. He is a rancher with a heart that speaks to her own, making it impossible for her to fulfill her duty. But with Aggie set on marrying Clint, Ida show her that marrying Clint would be a terrible match.

As the tension between them grows, so does the risk of losing Clint to Aggie. But when Clint's prized horses disappear, Ida realizes she may need more than just her love to save him. Can their secret love overcome the obstacles in their way? And what will happen to Aggie if she doesn't marry Clint?

With the help of the tough rancher, Ida must navigate a twisted path to protect her heart and the man she loves. Fans of western romance will be swept away by this tale of love, duty, and danger. Buy now!

• Strong Heroine
• Rugged Cowboy Hero
• Secret Love
• Unexpected Twists
• Small-Town Setting
  

DID THEY HEAR WHAT I HEAR? by Marisa Masterson

 Bonk! Now, don't think about the modern use for that word. Nothing dirty is meant here.

https://tattoobird.tumblr.com/post/651562898279235584

I simply wanted bonk to describe a hit on a character's head in my latest writing project. Then I began to reconsider. Did someone in 1880 use that onomatopoeia?

https://collections.theworldwar.org/argus/final/Portal/Default.aspx

Strange to realize it, but even our words used to represent sounds can reflect the time period when we live. And no, bonk would not have been used in the 1880s. It originated during World War I. Then it meant to fire artillery. To be bonked meant being hit by a shell. In the 1920s, the word changed. It described hitting someone or something.

What words were commonly used onomatopoeia in the 1800s? What could I use and stay true to my historical time period?

https://www.audible.com/pd
/The-Bells-Audiobook/B0854966F4

I only have to look at a favorite poem of mine, one I loved to teach when I was in the classroom. Edgar Allen Poe gives us a wonderful list of used sound words in The Bells.

Taken from the poem:

 Yet the ear it fully knows,
            By the twanging,
            And the clanging,
         How the danger ebbs and flows;
       Yet the ear distinctly tells,
            In the jangling,
            And the wrangling.
       How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
             Of the bells—
     Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
            Bells, bells, bells—
 In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

(https://poets.org/poem/bells)

 

Would I, in 2025, use wrangling as a sound word? Probably not. Clangor? No, that's not a common one in my vocabulary. Was it common at Poe's time in the nineteenth century? I'm not sure, but it does make me wonder.

 By studying nineteenth-century literature, we get an impression of some of the more common sound words used. A Google search suggested this list:

• Tinkle: Imitating the light, high-pitched ringing sound of bells.
• Clang: Representing a loud, ringing metallic sound.
• Clash: Similar to clang, depicting the sound of two objects striking forcefully.
• Crackle: The sound of something dry breaking apart or a fire burning.
• Thump: A dull, heavy sound of impact.
• Whir: The humming or buzzing sound of a spinning object or machine.
• Knock: Imitating the sound of someone tapping on a door.
• Click/Clack: Representing short, sharp sounds, often mechanical, like a door latch or high heels.
• Splish-splash: The sound of liquids hitting a surface, typically water.
• Tick-tock: The sound of a clock. 

The last one is definitely something from the past. So few people use anything other than an electronic device for time nowadays. Clash is another seldom-used word, at least as an adjective. It has become a verb.

What does this all mean? The dialogue in my books definitely needs to reflect a time that is different from my own. 

Maybe I'll thump my character on the head rather than give him a bonk. To my modern ears, that sounds so much more wholesome.