Besides selling felted soap at the local farmers’ market, I engage in various experiments with wool and water.  Once I attempted to make a pink beret.  Unfortunately, in my calculations I forgot the difference between radius and diameter. . .

Even artistic types ought to know the difference between radius and diameter

Fortunately, my daughter, a theatre major and costume designer, cleverly turned the botched beret into a dashing Renaissance cap that could have been donned by a character in Kingdom of the Birds.

Kat Lutze, costume designer extraordinaire

Hilda Demuth-Lutze and Gottfried Krodel at the launch party for Kingdom of the Birds on March 6, 2010.

After reading the Beatitudes, the Gospel lesson for All Saints’ Sunday, my pastor held up the Book of the Names of the Dead and told the congregation that all of our blessed ones could be found in these pages: the peacemakers, the pure of heart, the meek—and also the ornery.

Yes, “ornery” certainly describes my mentor and friend Gottfried Krodel, whose name is written in that book.

Doc Krodel was so ornery that he frightened undergraduates. When I was a freshman at Valparaiso University, I watched a classmate scrub the metal letters of his typewriter with a toothbrush because Krodel would not accept a Reformation history assignment blotched with ink-filled a‘s and e‘s.

Doc Krodel was so ornery that even though he was an internationally acclaimed Luther scholar, he declined to learn to use the Internet. Instead, when he and I met to discuss early drafts of Kingdom of the Birds, he would marvel at the research that I had conducted online: “My dear, how do you know such things? Where did you find these sources?”

Doc Krodel was so ornery that even as he began putting his affairs in order, knowing that failing health would soon force him to give up his house, he decided to paint his living room a brilliant peacock blue. After all, he told me, his sainted wife had been quite fond of this particular shade.

Doc Krodel was so ornery that in spite of chronic pain, he continued to work at his desk for hours each day, even beginning a long-cherished project on Albrecht Dürer he knew he was unlikely to live to finish.

Doc Krodel was so ornery that during his final hospitalization when he was placed on a liquid diet, his daughter Christine watched him bow his head and give thanks to God for a bowl of Jello, which she knew he detested.

Blessed indeed are the ornery.

The Wartburg in winter

Since early December, Luther had been working on a German translation of the New Testament in his hiding-place in the Wartburg Castle. His plan was to return to his friends in Wittenberg with the completed manuscript. During the short days and long nights of winter Luther worked furiously as news of various disturbances in Wittenberg reached him.  When he had first begun the task, he hoped to finish the translation by Easter.

Like any writer with a massive project underway, Luther must have paused at times to calculate wearily how much he had written and how much he had yet to write.

At what point, I wonder, did Luther realize that at his current pace he would finish the translation well before Easter? At what point did he set himself a new deadline for completing the manuscript?

For Luther desperately wanted to get back to Wittenberg to address his wayward flock — and the ideal time for the words he had in mind was the penitential season of Lent.

On March 5, shortly after leaving the Wartburg, Luther sent another message to Duke Frederick: “I have written this letter in haste so that Your Grace may not be disturbed at hearing of my arrival . . .”  The letter is dated “Ash Wednesday, 1522.”

Within days the writer and his completed translation did indeed arrive in Wittenberg, where Luther’s pen began galloping across the pages of the sermon he intended to preach in the Town Church on the first Sunday of Lent.

Wittenberg in spring

Every November on St. Martin’s Day and six days later on the feast of St. Elisabeth, I remember my time at the Wartburg.  That year Martinstag dawned cold and damp, and Sir Georg did not leave his room.  After I had tended his fire, he wrote steadily all day, occasionally rising to pace and mutter to himself.  He might have spent the entire evening alone had I not been sent with the captain’s request that the knight leave off scribbling to attend the traditional soldiers’ feast.

Downstairs in the Ritterhaus the aroma of roasted goose filled the air.  The soldiers of the Wartburg sat at the long banqueting table.  Without the civilizing presence of women or royalty, the men drank deeply, spoke crudely, and laughed loudly.

Sir Georg did not participate in the banter about women and weapons.  He did appreciate the wine which Captain von Berlepsch had ordered in honor of the day.  However, when the captain signaled the servants to fill the cups a third time, Sir Georg turned his down on the table.

“Come now,” said one of the soldiers.  “Surely you have no objection to the best wine of the season?”

“Not at all,” said Sir Georg. “The Apostle Paul writes that whatever goes into a man does not defile him.  It is what comes out of a man that defiles him–drunkenness, gluttony, deceit–“

The other man laughed. ”Are you a priest to whom we should confess our sins?”

The knight shook his head.  “I am no more a priest than you.  Are we not all called to do God’s will?  No priest’s robe or bishop’s ring, no vow or discipline gives one man spiritual authority over another.  All of us in this room and in all of Christendom are a priesthood.”

“Enough, Georg,” said Captain von Berlepsch. “We know you have a poet’s tongue.  If you must speak, give us a few words in keeping with the day.”

“Very well, Captain.” Sir Georg rose from his seat.

“My friends, on this day we mark the feast of Saint Martin, who was a soldier like ourselves.  God gives us saints not as intercessors, but as examples.  What do we learn from the example of the soldier Martin?  All of us remember his most famous act.  Upon seeing a beggar shivering in the cold, Martin drew his sword, cut his cloak in half, and shared it with the one in need.”

The knight looked up and down the long table.  “How many other soldiers had already ridden past that beggar without seeing him?  How many of us stride along each day wrapped in our own cares?  Occupied with what appears to be our duty, we look neither to the right nor to the left.  How then will we ever know whether God has other plans for us?”

For a moment Sir Georg stood in silence.  “It sometimes happens that a man finds himself at a loss as to what God expects him to do.”  The knight glanced at the captain.  “After all, a sword is hardly a suitable tool for cutting fabric.  Why did not God provide our sainted Martin a tailor’s shears?”         He smiled.  “We must use what God has given us.  In every circumstance we must look around to see how we might best serve Our Lord.  Like Saint Martin himself, wherever God has placed us and with whatever tools we have been given, we must never tire of seeking to know His will.”  He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Amen.”

The captain raised his cup. “To our brother Martin!”

“To Martin!” the soldiers chorused.

Sir Georg opened his eyes.  “To the glory of God!”

On this postcard a single star shines above the parapets of the Wartburg Castle as the solitary scholar scribbles away by candlelight.   I especially like the artist’s depiction of the birds and other creatures of the Thuringian Forest as well as the demonic figures lurking outside that oak-leaf border.

In Kingdom of the Birds, the events of a chapter titled “Tricks of the Devil” occur in October.  Five months of exile have taken their toll on a man who thrives in the company of friends and colleagues.  As October of 1521 wanes, a significant date approaches: All Hallows’ Eve marks the anniversary of the Reformation begun four turbulent years earlier when Luther posted his 95 Theses in Wittenberg.

During the ongoing political and religious struggles in Germany and beyond, the outlawed professor can communicate only through letters written from his hiding-place in the mountaintop castle, which he calls “the Wilderness” or “the Kingdom of the Birds.”

The postcard shows Luther engaged in his most famous literary activity at the Wartburg, translating the New Testament into the German language.

But that momentous endeavor would not begin until after the dark nights of October.

When I first saw the watercolor painting created for the cover of Kingdom of the Birds, I loved the Narnian feel of that scarlet-and-blue-clad figure on the galloping horse.  The artist, Shirley Flachman of Minneapolis, has visited the Wartburg, and her vision captured the power and mystery of that mountaintop castle.

While I do not pretend to have the powers of the chronicler of Narnia, I do hope that my readers enjoy a glorious ride as they follow the adventures of Seppel and Ilse in the Kingdom of the Birds.

Needle-felted soap from the Hil-Mar Farm booth at the farmers' market in Valparaiso, Indiana

Alongside the soap I display copies of my novels and colorful postcards of the book covers. I generally sell two or three books a day, and many visitors to my tent take the free postcards, which list the publisher’s website and my book blog.

Some people seem awed by the fact that an ordinary woman selling soap is also an author.   Others, I suspect, wonder whether I am a “real” author, whatever that means.  But I’m as real as they come.  Like many other writers published by small presses, I am the one most responsible for publicizing my books.  My publishers can only do so much—I need to be actively involved in marketing my wares in a variety of venues.

In 2009 when Crickhollow Books released Plank Road Summer, my sister/co-author Emily and I spent much of the summer at book events in Wisconsin, Illinois, and Indiana. We scheduled most events ourselves by emailing and calling bookstores, libraries, historic sites, and community groups.   The harvest we reaped included not only book sales but also name recognition because of local press releases, feature articles, and Internet posts.    Anyone who Googles “Plank Road Summer” today will find over 27,000 results.

I have not traveled extensively in promoting Kingdom of the Birds.  After all the weekends away during the previous summer, I wanted to enjoy more time with my family.  However, I did manage to sneak in a little book promotion when a video crew showed up at the farmers’ market: http://www.valpolife.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=8098:making-felt-soap-with-hilda-demuth-lutze&catid=356:community-video&Itemid=315

My summer as a gypsy book peddler is nearly over. Next week I return to Chesterton High School, where I have taught English for over twenty years. I used to think that once I was published, I’d be able to quit the day job to write full-time. The truth is that I could make more money selling soap.

This friendly abduction had been masterminded by Spalatin, chaplain to Duke Frederick of Saxony, the territorial lord and patron of Wittenberg University, in order to protect the outlawed professor from his enemies.

From Luther’s frequent correspondence with friends on the outside, historians know a great deal about his activities during his exile at the Wartburg, which he discreetly referred to as his “Patmos” or the “Wilderness” or the “Kingdom of the birds.”  Luther never named his guardian, Captain Hans von Berlepsch, but he did refer to his “host in the kingdom of the birds.”  The Berlepsch coat of arms features five green parrots on a field of gold.

Historians know almost nothing about the other residents of the castle, such as the captain’s family or servants or soldiers.  When I began writing Kingdom of the Birds, my imagination peopled the Wartburg with those whose lives were influenced by encounters with Martin Luther.  In the mountaintop world that is my Wartburg, I have lived with Seppel and Ilse, Otto and Hermina, Gunda and Dolf for so long that they seem as real to me as any figures in history–and as dear as many other figures in literature.

As an undergrad I attended Wordfest, the annual series of guest speakers sponsored by the English department.  Last week in the Brauer Museum of the VUCA, I stood before a room full of Valpo students who will never know the bleak delight of trudging across the tundra.   This Wordfest audience also included several of my old professors.

The Valparaiso University community made my writing of Kingdom of the Birds possible.  I conducted much of my research at the old Moellering Library and the new Christopher Center.  In my acknowledgments I mentioned six VU professors and nine alumni among my friends and relatives.

Two Valpo graduates are responsible for creating educational resources for use with Kingdom of the Birds.  My sister Gretchen has written a curriculum guide for intermediate/middle school language arts and social studies classes.  Gretchen also prepared discussion questions for classrooms, book clubs, and other reading groups.

My pastor friend Luke Bouman is writing a series of discussion guides for Lutheran confirmands and their families.  The first lesson is posted as a PDF on the Resources for Teachers page on this website, as are Gretchen’s materials.

Just this morning in the Torch, the VU student newspaper, I read a delightful account of my Wordfest presentation by reporter Becky Christopher, yet one more Valpo connection.

Many thanks, friends of Valpo, for all your contributions to the Kingdom of the Birds.

According to my sister Gretchen, the Kingdom of the Birds launch party resulted in “years of careful parenting undone.”

On Saturday, March 6, at Immanuel Lutheran School, Renaissance swordsmen–and a swordswoman–demonstrated fighting moves to an appreciative audience.

As I greeted guests and signed books, the clanging of steel blades punctuated the four-part music of the recorder consort. Later, after a few lessons from the masters, children of all ages enjoyed themselves thoroughly, thrusting and parrying with foam swords.

Many thanks to those who made the event so memorable, including the women of the Immanuel Co-op who provided our feast, SCA members of the Shire of Greyhope, the Northwest Indiana Fencing Club, and the Chesterton High School musicians who played us tunes of surpassing grace.

Thanks, too, to the many friends and relatives who gathered to celebrate the publication of Kingdom of the Birds.