Storytelling Trip: Day 6 in Lewisburg

We said goodbye to the General Lewis Inn after a fine breakfast, packed up the car and headed to the last performance of the trip, Lewisburg Elementary School.

I'd been here last year, and the response from the students was terrific. The teacher who arranged the visit wanted stories to complement Heritage Week activities, so I prepared Appalachian stories and ballads for three sets.

Although many stories can span age groups as far as interest, content and enjoyment, there are differences in cognitive development between certain age groups and stories must be selected to recognize those differences. For example, tall tales (also known as "lies" in the mountains) go right over the head of children younger than 8 or 9 years old--younger children think that the fantastic events are true! Actually, I've had children as old as 12 ask after a telling of my Turpentine Tales, "Is that really true?" My stock answer: it's as true as you believe it is. And that's the truth.

Often, however, I will discuss the elements of a tall tale with the students after a telling, noting the source of the stories I tell and what makes them a tall tale. I also encourage them to tell the story at home, and go over the "bones" of one of the tales so they have the sequence of events to tell it later in their own words. For that's what a storyteller does--we don't memorize a story (except in very few cases)--we learn the bones, the sequence of events, get to know the characters and then tell the tale in our own words.

Those words may vary from telling to telling, based on the age of the listeners, the time limits we face and the vocabulary of the story. For example, if I say 'head of the holler" would you know what I meant? It's not likely, unless you've spent some time in the hills. So I may have to offer a definition embedded in the story, or use a different term.

I love the look on this girl's face--sharing a moment of the story with her neighbor. I often do the same, turning to share a moment of the story with someone, whether friend or stranger. Somehow it increases the pleasure to see the acknowledgement of the moment in someone else's eyes.

In Lewisburg, we enjoyed Sody Saleratus told with bear and squirrel puppets and student volunteers, the Kettle Song with lots of audience participation, the Skunk Song, the story of Mud with my raccoon puppet, the Courting Song, and Lazy Jack with the K-1 students. The 2-3 grade students heard Sody Saleratus, The Devil's Nine Questions (ballad), Jack and old Fire Dragaman and The Headless Woman of Briar Creek. Then 5th and 6th heard the song Knocked Him in the Head, Jack and Old Fire Dragaman, and the ghost stories Wizard Clipp and Burnt House, along with the ballads The Devil's Nine Questions and Lord Lovell. (Jack stories, I find, bridge all ages, child to senior citizen.)

The trip was exhilarating and affirming. Kids do need to hear stories. Adults want to listen too. Everyone wants to be connected, to share the sense of community that develops in every storytelling audience, to the memories of youth and the culture we live in. It's not about age, race, socio-economic level or location. It's about joining together to remember, to listen, and to relax in the safety of the age-old art of storytelling.

And so, our stories ended, we journeyed home, taking a few more shots as we traveled. Pictures help retain memories, and memories develop into stories. And the stories go on.

Storytelling Trip: Day 5

St. Peter's Catholic Church, Harper's Ferry

I realized that I never finished the posts about last week's storytelling trip. We've been so busy with springtime yard and garden work that it seems it was months ago, not just last week, that we returned home.


So, back to last Monday:
While I was telling stories at a private school in Kearneysville, WV, Larry took off to a place he's been wanting to visit: Harper's Ferry. He took my camera along and came back with some good pictures.



The main street in town. Love the old buildings! Can you tell it was raining hard?

The town is built on the cliffs above the junction of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers, and the views are spectacular. The houses date back to the mid-to-late 1700's and the stairwells have to be seen to be believed, they are so tiny and narrow. It's obvious that people were either much shorter or stayed bent over most of the time.

Harper's Ferry is fascinating even without the Civil War events that took place there. I wish I had had the time to go with Larry, because it's been a long time since I've been there--and in doing some family research we learned that our great-great-grandfather was once a prisoner of war and held here by the Confederates. I'd like to see where the prison was--next trip, perhaps.

John Brown's fort in Harper's Ferry.

At the school, the students were eager listeners. I believe I was the first storyteller to visit, so this was a new experience for them. Although my focus was Appalachian stories and ballads, we also touched on a few tales from the Mid-East that illustrated some of the character traits the school is based on: respect, responsibility and reason.

I had not realized before my arrival that most of the students were not from West Virginia, and didn't know about the Wizard Clip story. So of course I told it! During the day I realized once again the importance of sharing our state's culture through storytelling. The very act of telling stories is symbolic of mountain life as it once was, when people gathered to share tales in informal settings. Through the medium of story, culture and traditions can be explained in an entertaining and memorable way that children will remember.

We said good-bye reluctantly, and started on the long drive ahead of us--about 4 hours on the interstates to Lewisburg, WV. Rain fell in sheets for most of the journey, and for once I was glad we had not taken the back roads. We arrived at the General Lewis Inn just in time to unpack, clean up and make it to the dining room in time for our 8pm reservation. A quiet dinner of rainbow trout, grilled vegetables and wine was a welcome reward after the wet journey.

Our room was part of a suite, furnished with antiques. The bed was piled high with pillows and we sank into it gratefully. The wake-up call would come too soon.
Our room at the General Lewis Inn.

The Turkeys are Here!

Six of them: 5 Great White and 1 Bronze. The bronze ones are beautiful to look at, but hard as all get out to pluck--they have black pinfeathers so cleaning is a chore. Uh...yeah, these will be dinner eventually.

We used to raise 15-20 a year and sell fresh birds at Thanksgiving. I'm not ready to get back into that business yet, but I have missed having fresh turkey on our Thanksgiving table. With luck, we'll have it for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's day and a few other random times. I may even do as I did in the past, and can some of the meat. It's ready to use quickly to prepare meals when it's been canned.

Right now the little guys are in the house, waiting to get a little older and the temps outside to warm up again before we put them in the turkey house. They are very quiet, much calmer than the baby chickens were. It's fortunate that I'm off work for a while so I can get them off to a good start.

The Bottle Bush Complete

Last week another surprise package arrived in the mail. I opened it, and lo! Another beautiful blue bottle! This one is from Ellouise in Maryland. It joined the collection on the porch as I searched for the perfect place to put the bottle bush. If you missed it, the original post about the bush and the folklore surrounding bottle bushes is in my March 2nd post.

First, of course, I had to find a bush to use. I decided not to use on of my living shrubs for several reasons: the limbs are very, well, limber. They bent with the weight of the bottles. Another reason was that the limbs weren't strong enough, at least in my opinion.

So I searched for a branch from one of the trees we'd cut for firewood last year. We don't cut many live trees anymore, because the ice storm 5 years ago and the drought last summer have supplied plenty of dead wood to be cut. I finally found an oak branch to my liking when Larry and I went mushroom hunting (more about that later).

The bottles go on the bush:

Larry puts on the crowning touch...

and voila! Our blue bottle bush is complete. We used an old umbrella base to anchor the branch, and placed the whole thing in the corner of the patio (don't look at the dead leaves on the ground; I haven't got it cleaned up yet.) Can you see Idaho (2nd from the top), Maryland (2nd from bottom), Kansas (right side, third one toward the center), and Nova Scotia 9it's hardest to see, but it is just above and to the right of Maryland--the bottom is facing the camera)? There's also one from Fairmont (small bottle on right), a few from Cottageville (top and center)...and a few left over!

I wondered how the bush would do in a windstorm. Would the bottles blow off? Would the branches break? Should we have put it somewhere were the bottles could get a soft landing if it tipped over? Last night a big thunderstorm blew in and I woke up several times, wondering how the bottles were doing.

When I got up, everything was intact. Whew.

Thank you, all my friends for sending and sharing bottles with me. This has been a fun project, and now we're safe from evil spirits ;-)

Butterflies and Blooms

Upside down Eastern Tiger Swallowtail:
Sharing: Eastern Tiger Swallowtail and Black Swallowtail
Rome apple tree in full bloom. With no frost so far, we might get lucky this year!

Make a Simple Applewood Wreath

When people think of making a wreath, they usually think of grapevine wreaths. Here is one my husband made about 10 years ago from the water sprouts on our apple tree. Water sprouts are the new branches that sprout along the trunk of the tree, and are usually pruned off because they affect the productivity of the tree.

BUT--they are also very flexible and can be easily woven into a wreath, as Larry did above. The method is the same as for making any wreath--simply twine the branches around each other in a circle until the wreath is the thickness and shape you want.

This wreath retained the red color of the sprouts nicely. Another one he made at the same time is also is great condition and still has a dark red tint. Both have hung inside, or on the porch over the years.

Applewood is considered to have magical properties in some folklore, and was used in Norse times to make wands, bows, etc. Celtic traditions holds that it can be used in fairy magic. My mother (an Englishwoman) said applewood symbolized fertility. I had the wreath over my bed at that point and thought best to move it! There is much apple lore and information here

and here and a whole book about it by Barrie E. Juniper (is that a real name?) called The Story of the Apple.

Storytelling Trip: Day 5, The Wizard Clip Ghost Story

I was glad to find that the performance for Day 5 of our storytelling road trip was close to Middleway, West Virginia.

Middleway is the home of one of West Virginia's most famous ghost stories, The Wizard Clip. Originally called Smithfield, the village was the home of a farmer named Adam Livingston back in the late 1700's. Here is the story as I know, learned from many print sources and from storyteller Betty Cross of Morgantown, WV:

People in the area were aware that strange things happened sometimes on the Livingston place. Horses would stop dead in the road, for example; drivers and teams saw a rope stretched across and barring their progress, but there was no rope there. These events were thought to be linked to an unmarked grave on the property.

Then one night a traveler knocked on the door in the middle of a terrible storm. He asked for lodging and Mr. Livingston agreed that he could stay the night. The man seemed to be a tailor, judging by the tools he carried.

Later in the night Mr. Livingston heard the man coughing and moaning; it was apparent that he was very ill. When he inquired if there was anything he could do for the man, the tailor replied, "I am very sick; I doubt I will survive the night. Please call for a Catholic priest to administer last rites."

Now Adam Livingston, for whatever reason, hated the Catholic Church. He refused the request, and the tailor died within hours. Mr. Livingston arranged the body as was proper, and lit candles around it. He then contacted a neighbor named Jacob Foster to sit up with the dead man, again according to the custom of the day. But the candles kept going out; although all windows were closed, there was a breeze in the room and Mr. Foster could not keep them lit. He became so frightened he fled.

In the morning, the body was buried. Within a few days, frightening events began to occur in the home and around the property. W.S. Laidley wrote the following account of these activities in 1904 for the West Virginia Historical Magazine Quarterly:

On the night succeeding the burial the peace of Livingston was much disturbed by the apparent sound of horses galloping round his house. He frequently rose during the night - which was a beautiful moon-light night - to satisfy his mind. While he could distinctly hear the tramp of steeds, he could see nothing to assure him that it was anything more than a figment of his own imagination. In about a week afterward his barn was burnt and his cattle all died, the crockeryware in his house, without any visible agency, was thrown upon the floor and broken; his money disappeared; the heads of his turkeys and chickens dropped off; and chunks of burning wood would leap from the fireplace several feet out into the floor, endangering the building unless promptly replaced.

Soon the annoyances, which were then destroying his peace, assumed a new form. The sound of a large pair of shears could be distinctly heard in his house, clipping in the form of half moons and other curious figures, his blankets, sheets and counterpanes, boots and shoes, clothing, etc. This was all in one night, but the operation of clipping continued for upwards of three months, a small portion of it only being done at a time, but the inexorable shears never being silent twenty-four hours at a time. By this time the news of these strange proceedings was spread through the country for thirty miles around, and attracted in an especial manner the curiosity of the citizens of Smithfield.

An old Presbyterian lady of Martinsburg, hearing of the clipping that was going on at Livingston's to satisfy her curiosity, she went to Livingston's house. Before entering the door she took from her head her new silk cap, wrapped it up in her silk handkerchief and put it in her pocket to save it from being clipped. After awhile she stepped out again to go home, and having drawn the handkerchief out of her pocket and opened it, found the cap cut in narrow ribbons. (from WV Culture and History website).

Other accounts report that his chickens heads were cut off, money disappeared and the Livingston barn burned to the ground. Adam Livingston was greatly stressed by these events. One night he had a dream in which he saw a man dressed in robes who seemed to be offering to help him. When he mentioned this dream to a neighbor, the neighbor said the only men who dressed like that were Catholic priests. Eventually Livingston contacted a priest who came and celebrated a mass in the home and blessed the tailor's grave. Things quieted down for a while after that, but it wasn't long before the Livingston family was plagued again by mysterious clipping and other phenomena.

In desperation, Livingston again contacted the priest (Father Dennis Cahill). A mass with two priests was held in the home. Some accounts also say the rite of exorcism was conducted. Whatever the priests did, the frightening events stopped. Adam Livingston was so grateful that he deeded about 40 acres of his land to the Catholic Church. The Church owns the land to this day; it is called Priest Field and is a retreat center on the banks of the Opequon (pronounced o PECK en) Creek. From the Martinsburg, WV Journal:

The deed, dated Fev. 21, 1802, states that the Rev. David Cahill, clergyman of the Church of Rome, had “given particular pleasure to the said Adam Livingston who wishes to bestow on the Rev. Dennis Cahill some lasting proof of his intent.”

The village of Middleway today. The town has many log buildings dating to the early to mid 1800's. The village was called Wizzard Clipp (the spelling often varied; some people used two z's, some used two p's) after the Livingston events for many years, then later simply Clipp. Finally the USPS assigned the name of Middleway to avoid confusion with Smithfield in southern Virginia. (At the time of the Wizard Clip, West Virginia was still part of Virginia).

The entrance to Priest Field today.

Storytelling Trip: Day 4

Saturday was a booming day for the Leesburg Flower and Garden Festival, we were told, but Sunday? You can see for yourself how it was. The rain did not stop all day, but brave souls ventured out anyway--and a few foolish ones, too, like my sister Theresa and me.



Our first stop was at the display created by Theresa's former professors and their students from Northern Virginia Community College. Their gazebo featured a green roof of drought-resistant plants. Lovely! They won 2nd place this year, so they were very happy. The frenetic night before stretched into the frenetic early morning--they completed their display at 6:30 am Saturday morning, just before the show officially opened.


This is the winning entry, by a company called Wildwood Landscape. I liked this stone structure with two small waterfalls, and the mossy logs edging the front of the gardens. And all this constructed between 6pm and 8am on Friday-Saturday--amazing. I'm pretty sure my brickmason husband could build something similar, if he ever had the time. He's built several things with stone around the house--flowerbeds, the patio, the fireplace...surely this would not be much of a challenge?




Back at Jon's to dry out, and to play with Baxter, the golden retriever who considers their home his castle. Kate taught Baxter a new trick--balancing a dog treat on his nose, and waiting for the signal to Go! He then flips the treat into the air and catches it. Larry loved it--well, he loves Baxter anyway, the dog is so loving and willing to please. The first time Larry saw Bax do his trick, he just shook his head. "That dog isn't right," he said, with a wide, wide grin of approval.

That evening we took Jon to BWI to fly out to Las Vegas. I looked back over the day and had to laugh at the variety of activities, from a quiet breakfast with Jon's family, the flower show and tea with Theresa at a nice little tea room in Leesburg (to take off the chill of the rain--and talk), to the bustling airport at Baltimore, and back again to enjoy a little time with the kids before bed.

As I hit the pillow, I wondered what Day 5 of our journey would bring.

A Simple Cup of Tea

Herb tea is easy to make, especially in the Spring.

Pick a few sprigs of the herbs you want to use. I picked some lemon balm (it's almost a weed here, it proliferates so easily) and bergamot (also called bee balm and also spreads easily.

Once you've decided your mix if herbs, decide how strong you want your tea. The herbs are stronger in the Spring, so it takes less. I used 2 sprigs of lemon balm and 2 of bergamot for my mug.

Rinse your herbs and shake them dry, then put in a cup and cover with boiling (not just hot) water. My mother always said that is the mistake Americans make so often when making tea--they use hot water and not boiling, so the tea leaves can't steep properly.

Let the tea steep for about 3 minutes or until you think it's the strength you like, then lift out or strain the herbs out of the liquid. You might like your tea sweet, so add sugar or honey to your taste. Honey can overpower the delicate taste of most herb teas, so use it sparingly and use a light honey variety if you can (like clover honey or orange blossom honey).

Your tea is ready to drink!

Herbs can be dried for winter teas, but you will miss the incredible clear flavor of fresh-picked sprigs.

Storytelling Trip: Day 3 after the telling

This angel drew us into a cemetery outside of Shepherdstown. She watches over a family plot (Schley) in the front center of an apparently old graveyard.
Close-up of the angel's face. I'd like to have her watching over me.

Larry thought there might be Confederate graves here, and he was right. This is the Elmwood Cemetery, final resting place for 252 Confederate troops killed in the Battle of Shepherdstown and other battles in Lee's Maryland campaign.

The Unkowns were the ones that bothered me. There were many graves with this tombstone on them-

I wondered about the families who waited for these men to return, not knowing for certain what their fate had been. It had to be a terrible experience for those who waited.

Storytelling Trip: Day 3 Shepherdstown

Shepherdstown is one of the oldest (if not the oldest) towns in West Virginia. Established in 1734, the town is filled with historic buildings. It also houses the model of the first steam-powered boat, built by James Rumsey and with a successful trial run in 1787 (which pre-dates that Fulton guy!).

The library is tiny and charming, located in a historic building in the heart of town. We did not tell stories here, even though the program was sponsored by the library--there is just not enough space. Instead we went next door to the Men's Club. The spacious second floor afforded ample room and I was thankful for the elevator because stairs and my knee are not compatible right now.

The audience for this program was preschool to age 8, with a goodly parent contingent. Here we are telling the story of the Little Red Hen. Keyword for this group: participation! They were more than willing to help tell the stories.

A little friend crawled up on my lap during a Jack tale. She was determined to be the "beautiful girl" in the story, so she sat on my lap to be sure I didn't forget. We ended up with several beautiful girls in the tale--but then, each of the little ones in the audience was beautiful.

The skunk puppet sent the children running to the back of the room when this little storyteller lifted his tail and "sprayed" them. It was so much fun we did it twice! It also provided a wiggle break for everyone.

At the end, everyone joined for a group picture.

Storytelling Trip: Day 2 after the telling

After storytelling? Well, on the way back to my son's home we had to pass a Goodwill store. My car usually will not pass without automatically turning in at any junk shop. So of course we stopped. What I found:

Two handmade pottery mugs, a Chico's necklace, 2 pairs of new reading glasses (I buy these whenever I find them cheap because I lose so many pairs!), a bottle for the blue bottle bush, and a tiny silver bunny. Total cost: about $10.

Dinner was a reunion with my sister Theresa and her husband Jay. Daughter-in-law Jennifer put together a good meal of grilled chicken and burgers, veggie and fruit trays. Jennifer works full-time as a teacher, is completing her Masters degree in Special Ed in May, and has three teen/pre-teen daughters. She is a role model for her girls, and an inspiration to me. Although I'd suggested ordering pizza or something for dinner, her response was, nah. This is easy. And she made it look easy too.

After dinner, Theresa, Jay, two of the girls and I went to downtown Leesburg to see the construction of the Leesburg Flower and Garden Festival. I forgot my camera and regretted it, because the scene was amazing---10pm on the streets of the old town of Leesburg and the place was a madhouse of construction. Big lights glared down on workers who were wheeling in dirt, mulch and gravel, bricklayers and stonemasons at work, plants everywhere, cords, wires, hoses strung underfoot--I felt like I was backstage on a movie set.

Theresa attended Northern Virginia Community College's horticulture classes, and her professors were there with their current students, constructing their entry in the competition. Boys on ladders with power saws? Yep. We cheered as the cuts went through and everyone came down without injury. I could see that Theresa longed to be part of the action again--she'd been in charge of their display in the past and seeing the work in progress reminded her of the fun of the frenetic pace, the tension, late hours, and exhiliration when they'd place in the competition.

By midnight, we were in bed and sleeping soundly.

Newspaper Article about Storytelling at Baldwin

Here is a link to an article that appeared in a northern Virginia newspaper after my visit to Baldwin.

Storytelling Trip: Day 2

Baldwin Elementary!

What a school--many ESOL students, a library that is run by one of my best friends from high school, a beautiful day...it made for a good experience all around. The plan for the day was stories from around the world, a fitting choice since the children at this school come from a variety of backgrounds.

Here Raccoon works his magic on a large group of K-1 students. He can always be depended on to do a good job. He's so good, in fact, that I have a body double for him! Just in case something should happen to him, you know.

A lively bunch of volunteers works with me on another stand-by story: Uwungalema. What is it about those clip-on tails that kids love so much?

Later the librarian told me that these students were in the ESOL class. They did a fantastic job. Their teachers should be proud.

A dragon with attitude! The dragon helped tell the story about the man who loved dragons (from China).

Anansi is in trouble again in the story of Anansi Steals Wisdom. The thumb piano, or mbira, is used in the story to illustrate his climb up--and fall back down--the tree, and for some other sound effects. I have had this instrument for 10 years, and it's been dropped, played with and lugged around in suitcases regularly It's made from a gourd on the bottom, wood top with soundholes, and metal pegs that make the sounds when plucked with you thumb. This one has a lovely sound.

And below, my #1 fan watches from the lunch table. The library staff prepared a delicious lunch for us, and I enjoyed being able to talk with them while we ate.

Storytelling works well with children whose English is limited because a teller can modify the story to include definitions of unfamiliar terms as part of the story ("Anansi put the wisdom in a calabash--a gourd like this one my thumb piano is made from--and tried to climb the tree."). Within the context of a story, the unfamiliar words can be understood. A teller can opt to replace difficult words with simpler ones, and often the teller's gestures, facial expressions, and movements can aid in understanding the vocabulary and the story's action.

I have found that even children classified as ADHD can be good story listeners. I believe it is because they are very good at creating the mental images of the story as they listen. They probably add a lot more detail than other children because they are so active mentally. So for the them the story experience can be very rich. Many times these children can tell the story back to you days, weeks or even months later. I wonder if ADHD children might be excellent aural learners, but need more physical activity to keep learning on track.

I was tired by the end of the day (5 presentations of 45 minutes each) but I cannot describe the "high" that comes from a day when the stories flow, the audience responds, and we all enter the magic land of storytelling together.

Storytelling Trip: Day 1

Thursday morning we were on the road. We had to stop at Belvie's farm to say hello to Darrell's mule. Larry loves this animal for some reason and will always stop and talk to it. I learned something: mules eat brush! This old guy was gnawing on raspberry and multiflora roses for breakfast. All that green grass, and he eats thorns.



We took our usual route, Rte 33, across the state to Rte 28. It's a two-lane highway (hello, Two-Lane Bloggin'!) and the trip can be slowed by trucks and local traffic, but it's beautiful and in the end doesn't take any longer than going around by the interstate. We stopped to use the facilities at a park and once again enjoyed



the incredible beauty of Seneca Rocks. There is actually a trail up the back of these rocks, and an observation deck at the top. During WWII the military trained troops here for rock-climbing.

There is a story connected with the rocks--romantic!

I noticed this rock wall along the river at the base of the rocks, and had to get a closer look. The river rocks are so smooth; whoever stacked this wall did a very good job. It may have been a CCC project, or it may have been built by a farmer who once owned the land the park now occupies.

You can sort of see how wide the wall is with my hand as an indicator. (Try taking a photo of your hand with a digital camera. It's weird. When you move your hand away, you still see the image in the camera). I would guess that the wall is about 3 feet across. That's a lot of rock, but the river has plenty.

Here the North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac River rushes by. The river is shallow here, but very rapid and the blue-green color is something to see. This is trout season, so I expected to see some fisherman along the way.

And here he is, waist-deep in the water. I snapped this, as you can tell, as we drove by.

After a beautiful trip through the hills, we arrived at my son's house with plenty of time to visit and unpack, and get ready to go to our first storytelling site.