Back to the Cabin

Larry had good reasons to stop work on the cabin: a--too hot; b--too much garden; c--too high a chance to encounter snakes; d--lots of storytelling (he's my roadie!); e--too much grass to cut, and f--lots of company this summer.

Now the garden is pretty much fried in this unrelenting heat, the company, grass and traveling have slowed down and the evenings are cooler. The snakes are still a possibility, of course.

Sunday morning we were there bright and early, trying to beat the heat. The cabin looked just as we had left it. Since Larry and Aaron removed the tin roof in May, the logs have been exposed to the weather all summer. That's actually a good thing. A lot of the dirt, bugs, dust and unidentifiable stuff washed away in the rain so it looks better than it did before.

We still have a lot of work to do. Our goal is to have it ready to disassemble the weekend of September 18 and 19, when we hope to have several of our sons available to help. To get there, we needed to get the roof rafters down, take off all the bits and pieces of lumber that have been tacked to the logs over the years in an attempt to stop the drafts between the logs, and remove all the one-inch oak boards from the inside of the log walls.

Roof rafters coming down!

Larry and I got the rafters down Sunday by hooking a rope around them and pulling them down with the truck. It worked beautifully. He's been working on the oak boards inside and has the second floor almost completely finished.

It's funny and an eyeopener to see what the people who lived in the cabin used in between the logs to stop drafts. The logs were chinked with red clay mud at first, apparently, and as time passed different residents filled in gaps with whatever they had at hand. Newspapers, burlap, old clothes, corncobs, duct tape, Prince Albert tobacco cans, chunks of wood all found their way into the cracks and were then covered over by boards nailed over the cracks. I can't imagine this worked very well and I'm sure it created a haven for mice, snakes and other creatures, as this photo attests:

Another interesting part of taking a cabin apart is to see the construction methods. This cabin was originally pegged together with wooden pegs. Can you imagine patiently whittling a bit of wood into a round shape to use as a super-sized nail? I'm saving some of the pegs just because they remind me to be patient, take time and things will come together. We're saving the roof rafters that are still in good condition too. These poplar poles were carefully hewed flat on one side to allow for the roof boards to lay flat. I believe the original roof was probably shake shingles, or perhaps boards that were lapped over each other. The last owner put a new tin roof on it about 20 years ago and the tin is still in excellent condition--so of course he wanted to keep it to re-roof his barn. Darn it.

Tonight we worked at the cabin again. I drove straight from work, meeting Larry there. Nothing like a sandwich and iced tea carefully prepared by my hubby (what a guy) after my 50+mile drive. A quick change of clothes in the front seat of my car (yeah, you should try that sometime!) and I was ready to go.

We finished up working and I got the camera out for a few photos for tonight's blog. I laid my camera on the front of my car and it rested down in the well where the windshield wipers hide and I thought, "I'll remember to get that before we leave." Did I remember? As those of you who follow me on Facebook know, I did NOT remember. My camera rode about 15 miles over rough bumpy roads and up and down hills, snuggled down beside the passenger-side wiper. I would have been sick to have lost or damaged this camera because I just bought it this spring and like it very much. The things we do when we're tired and preoccupied!

We hauled off a full truckload of scrap wood, old wire and one huge bag of trash. I wonder sometimes if we will ever finish hauling off trash, but the end is now a faint glimmer at the end of the tunnel. A few more evenings like tonight and I think we'll make our deadline.

Microfiction Monday: Too Cool for Comfort

B believed the best bands were in Belpre.

C considered Coolville the cats of consummate coolness.

Weighted by alliteration, the boat sank.

Want to give it a try? Can you write a story in 140 characters or less?
Visit Susan's Stony River blog for details.

Seeing Susan

I've said it before: one of the best things about blogging is the people I meet. Susan, for example.

I started reading Stony River blog by accident. Ever browse blogs by using the "next blog" button on top of the blog page? I was doing that one winter night and stumbled on Susan's blog. I was fascinated by a blog written by someone in Ireland who was a writer but kept goats and lived far out in the country. And who wrote well and was so funny. I kept returning to read the next adventure in her life, usually some droll story of an ordinary life event made memorable by the words she chose to describe it.

Then one day I saw a photo posted that looked surprisingly like...West Virginia? How could that be when she was in Ireland? As it turned out, she was in West Virginia for a visit and bought a house here for a summer place. Last summer Susan and her family stayed all summer in their new/old house and came to my house for a visit. That was fun, and I looked forward to seeing them all again this year.

In May, Susan and her children moved permanently to their West Virginia home. I thought surely we'd get together soon after, but as my weekend lined up I realized that there was no open weekend from late April until now. It's been a busy summer! But yesterday we made the trip to visit, and boy did we have fun--from shrimp kabobs for lunch to a trip to Grafton...

Downtown Grafton on a quiet Saturday afternoon

A neat gargoyle high up on the old bank building

to visit the 1-2-3 Coffee House (run by yet another WV blogger friend).

The new addition is almost complete. There's an outside patio at the upper level and...

inside is pretty cool too.

We wanted to see the B&O train station museum but sadly it was closed; from the sign on the door it sounds like they need volunteers to help keep it open.

Back at Susan's house we had s'mores before we said a sad good-bye. But we had lots of conversation and laughter and enjoyed the little ones' antics and had another chance to meet and talk with her oldest daughter who will leave soon for college. F is a grandson-of-my-heart, and A is always unexpected and so funny.

It was a good day. And proof that friends we make online can be as close as those we make in other ways.

Searching for a Ghost

Fall is coming, and that means hunting season is coming. But for me, it's always hunting season--hunting for stories. And in the Fall, I am usually hunting for ghost stories.

I have many tales that I tell in this genre, but I am always looking for new stories, or additional information about ones I already know. My latest research projects have been in the latter category. And along the way, I've run into new stories that lead down intriguing paths in different directions. Ah, such is the storyteller's life!

First is a story I've told a bit--the last public hanging in West Virginia, which occurred in my county in 1897. It's not a happy story, although justice was probably served in the end. I wanted more information about the song that was written about the event. I knew the name of the person credited with the ballad, but he was not from West Virginia, and I was curious as to what would prompt him to write about a historic but local event. I'd looked online for answers but was still not satisfied. Finally I decided to go to the source. A little research turned up a telephone number and I called. The lady who answered listened to my question and told me someone would get back to me. I thought that would be the end of that.

But later in the day my cell phone rang, and on the other end was the writer himself. He answered my questions completely. Why he wrote it? He'd worked in West Virginia as a radio announcer and read Jim Comstock's newspaper column regularly. Comstock did a piece on the story and it was apparently so intriguing that it inspired the song.

That information prompted more questions, of course. Now I'm wondering where the guilty man was buried, and where his victims were buried. And the exact site of the murders. And, and, and. Always, there is more to learn about each story, no matter how much I research and how long I've known the tale.

The second story on my radar right now concerns the Ghost of Gamble's Run. I've told this one a few times and it's been a fairly short story. But as I looked for new material, this one kept popping up in my mind. How much did I know about it, really? Wasn't there more to learn? Who was John Gamble, anyway, and how did he come to live in Wetzel county? Was he married? Did he have children? What happened to his family, if he had one, after he was murdered? What was the date of the murder? How old was he? Details, details, but important ones if the story is to come alive for me and for my listeners.

Looking for information on Gamble led me down other paths and to a story that is new to me but ha evidently been around for some time--the Betts ghost of Calhoun county, West Virginia. Now I want to know more about this strange tale because of its many interesting elements--a murdered peddler, strange sounds, apparitions, black dogs. I want to know the why, when, where, why and what of this haunted place and in the course of discovery I feel sure a new story will be added to my storybag. And while I am on the trail of this story, I will bet that another will surface and I'll be after that one as well.


From the Hur Herald website, this is a photo of the home of one of Collins Betts' sons, which was built around 1888.

Of course, should you happen to know anything about the Betts ghost, I would love to hear about it. Or any other ghostly tale you might know.

Good News

It's official. They're getting married.

Not that I ever doubted that they would. After several months of being together, my son Derek and his girlfriend have made the announcement.

So we will be adding another lovely daughter-in-law and her two sons to our family. I am so happy for them and selfishly, so happy for us too because we also add her extended family to our circle. We knew Amy's twin sister before we knew Amy and she and her husband are two of our closest friends. And her parents are great people too.

Do you hear the joy in my words? It's ringing like bells.

Wordless Wednesday: Glory, in the Morning

Thirty-five years ago, give or take...Recipe for a House

Browsing in my recipe files a few days ago, I found my list of the items we bought to build our house, carefully written on yellow legal paper in my handwriting of my mid-twenties. (how young I was then!)

This was how much it cost to build our house in 1975-76:

$2836.00 for the excavation, foundation and framing materials.

$5,366.00 for the roof, windows, insulation, etc.

Another $2658.00 for plumbing, fittings, the dry well we drilled and then the installation of the spring for water.

Then there were a few additional items, like the milling bill for the oak siding cut by a neighbor, paint, trim, etc that added $361.00.

Total cost: $9,096.00.

This was just for the basic house of course. Over the years we added a bathroom, electricity, a deck and later an even bigger deck, replaced the roof and added new rafters, added the log room and stone fireplace and a few other improvements. But this list is the basic cost of the house when we moved in. The house was 1,092 square feet and we added another 400 with the log room. So cost per square foot was about $8. The log room, added in 2003-2004, cost an additional $5000--prices went up a bit in the intervening 30 years. And the other improvements over the years have added $$$ to the actual cost.

I wish I could describe how it felt to look at this fragile paper all these years later and see my careful tabulations. I wonder if I knew that I would one day share this list with the world at large? I don't remember, but apparently I thought it was worth recording, and worth keeping--as a recipe, perhaps, for how to build a house.

Tomato Tasting

Jaime felt well enough today to go to a little festival in Fairmont today. A tomato-tasting festival.

You heard right. Tomato tasting. And it was a taste treat.

I saw a little blurb in the local paper, so Jaime looked up the directions. The festival was to be held at High Gate, the former home of a coal baron in Fairmont that echoed the timbered look of old English architecture. The festival was held on the grounds of the carriage house of the original estate, and the tasting itself was inside the carriage house.

The grounds are beautiful. Fairmont has a strong Italian heritage and stellar stonework is evident throughout the city. At High Gate, stone walls, arches, steps and walls abounded. James and Michaela had a great time climbing up and over the walls as we explored the various vendors.

We found a soap maker who had lovely rose petal soap and Shea butter hand lotion as well as handmade birdhouses.

Worms!

We talked to people promoting worm farms, looked at the screen house full of Monarch butterflies, bought lemon thyme plants.

Then we found the tasting. Oh. My. There were tomatoes of all sizes and varieties. Most were the heirloom varieties. I saw many of the kinds I grew this year--Cherokee Beefsteak, Strawberry Beefsteak, German Pink, Amish Paste, Roma, Yellow Pear, Brandywine, Mortgage Lifter, Hillbilly. Our favorite was one grown by my friend and Master Gardener June Riffle called Zebra, I think. It was a yellow and green-striped tomato and was tangy and full of flavor. On the list for next year's greenhouse.

June's Zebra Tomato won third place! We think it should have been first.

Seeing June and her daughters was a surprise pleasure. They were selling breads and jams and other items. June is a storyteller, part of the duo called Mountain Echoes. She's also a great gardener and beekeeper.

Lasagna class was getting to start, but we had to leave.

We didn't stay for the many workshops and lectures scheduled for the day.

I left thinking that many other small towns could offer a similar festival. It was laid-back, interesting and unusual, and made me want to try a few new varieties next year. The classes were interesting too--we wanted to stay for the one on tomato diseases and treatments, but it was time to go home to make Aaron's dinner. Which was Eggplant Parmesan, good homemade bread from the festival and a salad featuring Jaime's Strawberry Beefsteak and German Pink tomatoes.

Safety Talk

I noticed Aaron's lunch cooler on the kitchen counter last night. "Uh-oh," I said, "Aaron forgot his lunch."

The conversation with my grandchildren that followed:

James (opens it and looks inside): It's empty.

Michaela: Maybe he took it in a bag.

James: I don't think so.

Michaela: I know. They will give him food at work.

Me: Really? Why would they do that?

Michaela: Well, if they don't die or get hurt, they give them steak.

Me: Oh, safety award?

Michaela: No, they just give them food.

Weekend

Off to Jaime's this weekend. I'm not sure I'll be able to post, but we'll see. Yall behave while I'm gone, you hear?

And check out the blog links on my sidebar. There are some good people writing excellent posts, well worth reading.

Ruler of the Garden

Sweat drips salty tears on seedlings;

Weeds crowd close but my vicious fingers choke them,

Twist them out of their safe harbor and then


Toss

Into the wheelbarrow with other unfortunates.

I am the ruler of this world, making god-like decisions of life and death.

I wreak havoc on the hill homes of ants and burrows of worms,

My sharp shovel is my sword that brings

My edicts to fruition.

Pickles and Peaches, Pickles and Peaches, and Family

That's the story this week: dill pickles and freezing peaches. 12 more pints tonight, and 10 more quarts of peaches. The tomatoes have slowed down to a trickle, which makes me sad but I am hopeful they will pick up again when the temperatures are more moderate. The gardens have that late-summer, worn-out, weeded-over look that cries out for a weedeater, but I'm not willing to go there yet because under all that yuck are  many good plants that are still yielding good veggies.

I'll be leaving Friday morning to spend a few days with Jaime as she recovers. She'll be leaving Assoteague Island tomorrow for the long trip home. We've worked out a schedule so she'll have someone with her and the kids for at least a week, then we'll see how she's doing and what more is needed. I think I'll be bringing the last half-bushel of peaches with me; no sense letting them rot and they can go in Jaime's freezer.

It was Jaime's son James' birthday today, and what better gift than to have his mother out of the hospital? Aunt Jennifer was there to help celebrate with a cake and gifts. Family is a special gift, especially in such times as these. I know James felt well-loved and cared for with his Dad, Mom, sister, grandparents, aunt and a cousin to celebrate with him. I'll get my birthday hug on Friday.

Other news: grandson Jared brought home his girlfriend to meet his family. She is from Boston and this is her first trip to West Virginia. I expect it's been a bit of an eyeopener, but she certainly seems to be enjoying her first taste of mountain culture.

What else is going on? Granddaughter Cassidy is singing tonight at an open mic in Shepherdstown, a cousin is in new love, and a son has some big news he hasn't shared with everyone yet, but it's good. Very good.

As Garrison Keillor says, that's all the news that isn't from this little house in the hills.

Jaime Update, and Morning

Jaime is doing better and is in a regular bed at the hospital now, expecting to be released tomorrow. What a way to spend your vacation! She wanted me to thank you all for your good thoughts and prayers. I think they will be driving home Thursday, and then we'll see how she does from there. Daughter-in-law Jennifer is driving to the Eastern Shore to see her tomorrow, which makes me feel better because Jennifer will be able to see what Jaime might need and if I need to be at her house to help out when she gets home. Whew. What a relief. Aaron has been making things as smooth as he can for his children, letting them enjoy their time at the beach and keeping them from being too worried (you know how kids can worry) while Jaime's mother, who was on vacation with them, stays at the hospital with Jaime. That works pretty well.

So this morning the humidity and heat let up for a little bit. No air conditioner running today! I am not much of one to complain about weather but this summer has worn me down. I am tired, tired, tired of being hot and not being able to work outside like I want to. There is no fun in sweating standing still, at least in my book. The flowerbeds are fried, with little bloom showing--except for those knockout Knockout roses! They are spectacular, and I am so pleased with them. For the rest--blah.

But when I walked outside this morning, I felt hopeful that the worst of summer was past us. Up on the ridge, the morning greeted me.

I loved the dense fog hanging down in the hollows and the sun bright on the hills. Aulene's house looked tiny and homey from far above.

Fall flowers are beginning to glow on roadsides and a few trees are changing color already, probably as worn out from the heat as we are.

Down off the hill, the fog lurked just behind this little cabin, ready to pounce, I think.

This evening it was still fairly nice, but the changing weather clouds are with us and rain is indicated in the forecast. Will we return to heat afterwards? I hope and pray not. I want my tomatoes to catch their breath and give us a few more good pickings. I might complain about the heat, but you won't hear me complain about ripe, tasty tomatoes on my plate!

Hoping your day was as lovely as mine, and that tomorrow brings gentle rain and cooling breezes to your neck of the woods.

Prayers Needed

Hey friends, please send a prayer or two up for our daughter-in-law Jaime. She was on vacation in Maryland and wrecked her bike. In the fall she lacerated her liver, apparently by ramming hard into the handlebars. She's currently in the hospital on the Eastern Shore and we're waiting for an update. My son and I appreciate your prayers and good thoughts for her.

Thanks.

A Good Sunday, and Easy Cheesy Tomato Things

Today has been busy--after company left, Larry got to cutting grass and I got to work on the produce he'd picked in the morning. More dill pickles are in process (and will be finished before the hour is out), a few quarts of tomatoes are in the freezer (not enough for a canner load, so I froze them to use later in soups), some basil is hanging to dry and the bushel of peaches is sorted so all the ones with bad places are in a bucket for the turkeys and chickens to enjoy. I also finally got the huge weeds out of my poor herb garden, feeling like I needed to apologize to the herb plants for such neglect. They seem to have forgiven me, and my reward for cleaning up the garden was the most delightful combination of scents--rosemary, savory, basil, Thai basil, thyme and others provided heady perfume as I worked.

We started this morning with a late, massive breakfast. We'd been up late the past two nights, just talking on the porch. There is nothing more comforting to me than time like that with my family, talking about nothing in particular but still a rich and satisfying conversation with lots of laughter. So we were slow moving this morning and were back on the porch drinking coffee when Derek and his family arrived at 10:30 am. Now you know that's late for us country types!

 I mixed up pancakes and Derek cooked them and the sausage while Katie cut up strawberries and I thawed and sweetened blueberries to go with whipped cream on the pancakes. I wasn't hungry again until evening! And even then not very hungry, so I decided on something simple.

I remembered something my sister Maggie made when she was here on July 4th weekend. It's so simple and so good.

A cracker (I used water crackers), some goat cheese, a slice of tomato, and a basil leaf: that's all there is to it. An absolutely delicious snack and made in less than a minute. These are great appetizers.

Then I made one of my favorite sandwiches--grilled provolone and tomato on whole grain bread.

A few cucumber slices and that was supper.

I hope your day was as satisfying as mine has been. Even though the heat returned after last night's storms, it was still a good day.

Family! and a Night Out

Family in for the weekend! We all went to the Alpine Theatre to hear granddaughter Jordan sing with a longtime local group called the Hillbreed. It was a great evening, the theatre was packed. It was interesting to see how the Hillbreed managed on such a small stage. They're excellent musicians, and know how to have fun. The variety of instruments really added to the show--bass, two guitars, harmonicas, sax, dobro, banjo, fiddle, mouth harp...I probably missed a few.

Jordan's singing was beautiful. I know, I'm her granny, but seriously she does have a great voice. Now that her baby is a little older Jordan is getting back into singing and I am so glad.

Afterwards, stargazing on the ridge with granddaughters. We saw many shooting stars and a few bats that livened things up.

Now to get everyone up and head to the Downtowner for breakfast. Weekend--don't you love them?

Peppers, Meteors, Lightning and Visiting

This evening Larry picked an overflowing basket of peppers--lilac, chocolate, green and banana peppers to be precise. I needed to cut them up for freezing; I wanted to visit my son who lives about 20 minutes away. Between his traveling schedule and my recent craziness we haven't seen much of each other since July 4th. But there was this basket of peppers demanding attention.

So we packed up peppers, knives, freezer bags and a cutting board and went visiting. Not quite the usual activity for a visit, but you know we got those peppers chopped up and packed up in an hour.  Doing it alone would have taken me three hours! Even better, we got to visit while we chopped.

When the peppers were done Ben, who is eight, came running in to tell us that there was a LOT of lightning outside. Of course we had to go see. Ben was right--the lightning was stunning. A huge thunderhead about 20 miles away was sending streaks of lightning into the air and the cloud itself was lighting up from within with pink and yellow lights. It was like a fireworks show. We pulled up chairs and ooohed and aaahed at each successive burst of light. It was eerie because there was no thunder, only gorgeous light displays. We wondered about the people where the storm is hitting; it has to be pretty bad, I think, because the cloud did not seem to be moving and we watched for over an hour. The lightning was still flashing even when we got home. That is one big storm.

As we reluctantly picked up our chairs to head back to the house, a large, glowing meteor streaked across the sky. This encore light show lasted long enough for me to say, "Oh my gosh, look at that! It's amazing! It's a meteor!" So maybe five seconds or more? It was the biggest meteor I think I've ever seen and its tail was visible for a long way behind it.

And that reminded me that the Perseid meteor showers peak tonight! so if it's clear where you are, get outside and find a good place to view the sky. It's a moonless night so far and here on the ridge the Milky Way is stark in the sky; there are thousands of stars visible, a truly perfect night for stargazing. I'm tempted to get back out there myself.

Best showtimes are around 3:00 am. See you then?

Fairy Rings: Rhys at the Fairy-Dance

To follow on yesterday's post, here is a fairy ring story from:

The Fairy Mythology: Illustrative of the Romance and Superstition of Various Countries.

by Thomas Keightley, published in1870

 
RHYS AT THE FAIRY-DANCE


Rhys and Llewellyn, two farmer's servants, who had been all day carrying lime for their master, were driving in the twilight their mountain ponies before them, returning home from their work. On reaching a little plain, Rhys called to his companion to stop and listen to the music, saying it was a tune to which he had danced a hundred times, and must go and have a dance now. He bade him go on with the horses, and he would soon overtake him.
 
Llewellyn could hear nothing, and began to remonstrate; but away sprang Rhys, and he called after him in vain. He went home, put up the ponies, ate his supper, and went to bed, thinking that Rhys had only made a pretext for going to the ale-house. But when morning came, and still no sign of Rhys, he told his master what had occurred.
 
Search was then made everywhere, but no Rhys could be found. Suspicion now fell upon Llewellyn of having murdered him, and he was thrown into prison, though there was no evidence against him. A farmer, however, skilled in fairy-matters, having an idea of how things might have been, proposed that himself and some others should accompany Llewellyn to the place where he parted with Rhys. On coming to it, they found it green as the mountain ash.
 
"Hush!" cried Llewellyn, "I hear music, I hear sweet harps."
 

Arthur Rackham (1867-1939)

We all listened, says the narrator, for I was one of them, but could hear nothing.
 

"Put your foot on mine, David," said he to me (his own foot was at the time on the outward edge of the fairy-ring).

 

Richard Doyle (1824-1883)

 
I did so, and so did we all, one after another, and then we beard the sound of many harps, and saw within a circle, about twenty feet across, great numbers of little people, of the size of children of three or four years old, dancing round and round. Among them we saw Rhys, and Llewellyn catching him by the smock-frock, as he came by him, pulled him out of the circle.
 
"Where are the horses? where are the horses?" cried he.
 
"Horses, indeed!" said Llewellyn.
 
Rhys urged him to go home, and let him finish his dance, in which he averred he had not been engaged more than five minutes. It was by main force they took him from the place. He still asserted he had been only five minutes away, and could give no account of the people he had been with. He became melancholy, took to his bed, and soon after died.
 
"The morning after," says the narrator, "we went to look at the place, and we found the edge of the ring quite red, as if trodden down, and I could see the marks of little heels, about the size of my thumb-nail."
 
For more about the Welsh fairy folklore and particularly the belief in fairy rings, see this chapter  in British Goblins: Welsh Folk-lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditions, by Wirt Sikes, which was published in 1880.
 
Here are links to both books, and another one you might like, on Amazon:

Fairy Ring

Little Feet

Where in sleep we dream of beauty

fields of little feet did play

dancing to the faerie fiddle

in fields of yellow clay

dressed in brown and moss-green velvet

shod in tulip poplar flow’rs

they dance to midnight’s caller

in the forest’s hidden bowers

when the morning sun arises

shines on dew its diamond glance

a ring of grass grows deep and lovely

where the little people danced

c Susanna Holstein 2008

"Fairy roses, fairy rings, turn out sometimes troublesome things." William Makepeace Thackeray

I was riding with my daughter-in-law one day in mid-July as we traveled from one storytelling performance to another, when I noticed something on a side street.

It was in the yard of one of the houses. I yelled, "Fairy ring! Turn around!"

My daughter-in-law put on the brakes and obligingly turned the truck around. Sure enough, there in the grass was a beautiful ring of white mushrooms. I jumped out for a closer look, and noticed a man on the porch of the home next to the ring.

"Do you mind if I take a picture of the mushrooms?" I asked.

"Not at all," he said, "but that's actually my neighbor's yard."

The door of the house behind the mushrooms opened. "Hey there." A guy standing in the open door grinned at me.

"Hey," I replied. "This is a perfect fairy ring. Would you mind if I took a picture?"

"Go right ahead," he said. "Cool, isn't it? Used to be a big oak there, but it died. These mushrooms come up in the same spot every year."

Why are rings of mushrooms called fairy rings? According to my English mother, the mushrooms sprout on the places where the fairies danced the night before. Scientists, of course, have a different answer. I prefer my mother's explanation.

As to what kind of mushrooms these were, that's open to debate. I think they may have been Chlorophyllum molybdites but I can't be sure since I did not look closely to identify them. I was just enchanted by the ring.

My daughter-in-law asked me later how I saw the ring from the highway, since it was a couple houses away on a side street. I really don't know. Call it fairy magic.

If you see a fairy ring

In a field of grass,

Very lightly step around,

Tiptoe as you pass;

Last night fairies frolicked there,

And they're sleeping somewhere near.

Author unknown.

For more fairy ring stories, visit Fairy Ring Folklore.

Wikipedia offers an extensive, cited article on fairy ring lore; according to the article, it is the Scandinavian and Celtic cultures that believe the rings to be made by fairies or elves; other cultures consider the rings bad luck, and pretty much every one agrees it's not good for humans to enter the rings, or even worse, destroy them (so don't even think about getting rid of them to protect your green lawn!).

And then, you can always look back to a post I wrote a while back about fairy rings and fairy lore, including a nice booklist.

"There never was a merry world since the fairies left off dancing. . ." John Seldon

Have you ever seen a fairy ring, or heard a story about their formation? I wonder if there are other tales attached to this intriguing phenomenon.

Home Again

My poor exhausted husband is sleeping on the couch. The car is unloaded, the suitcase unpacked, all the storytelling paraphernalia has been dragged in although it's not yet put away. The turkeys are thankful to be out in their lot after three days of being copped up in their building and the cats are happy to have milk again. It is good to be home.

Hello Pittsburgh!

We've been gone since Thursday evening to the Three Rivers Storytelling Festival in Pittsburgh, PA. I was one of three featured tellers--Tim Tingle and Kate Danaher were the other two. Along with storytelling, I also taught a workshop on ballads and ballad singing.

I cannot begin to describe the festival experience--but of course I'm going to try!

Kate Danaher, Tim Tingle, me

The first day started with stories for children, and I shared the stage with featured teller Kate Danaher and local tellers Edmund LoPresti and Mike Perry Pittsburgh for a two-hour set. Then it was time for a lunch program for seniors with Kate. We decided that rather than me telling for 30 minutes and Kate taking the stage, we would do a give-and-take program: one of us would start, and then the other take up with a story that spun from what the first teller had told. It was magical. It kept us thinking and making connections in our material, even though we had never met before that morning, and had never heard each other tell. The performance was lively, to say the least, with Irish stories and songs mingling with my Appalachian ballads and stories.

Soon after that I presented a two-hour workshop on ballads to a small but engaging group. We talked, discussed the ballads and their sources, the ballad tradition and the songcatchers and much more. I had handouts for the attendees so that could continue to learn on their own.

Then it was dinnertime--the day passed so quickly it was surprising to find that it was time to eat. After dinner Kate, Tim and I took the stage again, and later in the evening we participated in the ghost stories concert with Pittsburgh tellers Sean Miller and Scott Pavelle. Back at the hotel we were amazed at the huge number of people gathered at the hotel for a family reunion. They told us that over 300 people had come from all across the United States. And I thought our Connelly family reunion was big with our 120 folks!

Saturday morning I was onstage again at 11am so we could have a later start. This time I chose to tell tall tales to an audience that included a good many children. Larry and I slipped out for lunch afterwards, then came back so that I could participate in a story swap to fill a session time left vacant by the unfortunate illness of a scheduled teller. I was on again at 3pm, telling Jack tales this time, along with Wizard Clipp, one of West Virginia's strangest supernatural tales. And ballads of course. I include songs in almost every program now because I like the added dimension that song gives to stories.

The final concert followed dinner. Kate was hilariously funny, telling a story about someone using ball bearings instead of nonpareils to decorate a wedding cake with disastrous intestinal results for those who ate the cake, along with other comical tales from the collection of stories by Eamon Kelly, who had been one of Ireland's most famous storytellers. On Eamon's death, his widow entrusted his stories to Kate, entreating her to tell them. Kate has honored that request, not only telling the stories, but studying Eamon's voice closely to match every nuance of accent.

I followed Kate with two stories that are not part of my usual repertoire. I started with my favorite ballad, the first one I ever learned--Pretty Saro. The first story I told was Gracie's Cabin, which I wrote several years ago time ago and used to tell fairly often. For some reason I quit telling it; I don't know why really, but sometimes a teller will do that, just let a story rest. Gracie's Cabin came back stronger than ever, with some changes I had been mulling over that I think improved the story's ending.

I followed that story with the story of my parents--how they met, their early  married life and struggles, and the quest by my sisters and me to find Mom's infamous fruitcake recipe after we lost her in 2005. I have been thinking about this story and how to present it, what connections I could build and how to find the "thing" that the story was about. Simply stringing together anecdotes isn't enough--there must be depth and some place of common understanding and experience with the audience to make a true and memorable story.

Then Tim Tingle took the stage and oh.my.goodness. His story was tense, funny, dark, witty, musical, sad, touching, and I will never forget the experience of seeing and hearing Tim tell it. It was the story of a man who had committed murder and spent many years in Alcatraz, but the story was not about the murder or his prison time. It was the story of someone of Tim's own Choctaw heritage, a boy who grew up hard in a hard time for Indians, who learned young to take what he wanted through violence, a boy who made bad choices and hurt both himself and many others by his decisions. It was hard to listen to and yet...I will carry that tale and that man in my heart. Sometimes the difficult stories are the ones that most need to be told and heard, aren't they? Tim's message--don't judge by what you see, look for the goodness in a person's heart--is one we all need to carry with us.

It was time to go. We lingered, talking, hugging, saying goodbye to new friends in the audience, and finally packing up our items that we'd brought to sell. It was time to go. Once again, a community brought together by stories dispersed to carry the stories home with them, and the storytellers went home to rest and remember the circle of faces that listened to our voices and gave us their trust. What goodness there is in the human heart.

Bye, Pittsburgh!

White Visitor

The photo quality isn't good, but I am curious as to what bird this is. It was wading in the lake on Joe's Run yesterday evening--on the far side, of course, so getting a decent photo even with 18x zoom proved difficult. My mind is saying egret--is that correct?

There are photos and information on this website, which lists my area as a migratory area. So is he/she traveling early, or late?

A bit about egrets in medieval Chinese literature can be found here, with a lovely short poem.

I was  surprised to find that egrets and herons have places in the symbolism and mythology of many places. Look here to learn more.

And to close this brief wondering about egrets, a poem by Mary Oliver:

Egrets

Where the path closed

down and over,

through the scumbled leaves,

fallen branches,

through the knotted catbrier,

I kept going. Finally

I could not

save my arms

from thorns; soon

the mosquitoes

smelled me, hot

and wounded, and came

wheeling and whining.

And that's how I came

to the edge of the pond:

black and empty

except for a spindle

of bleached reeds

at the far shore

which, as I looked,

wrinkled suddenly

into three egrets - - -

a shower

of white fire!

Even half-asleep they had

such faith in the world

that had made them - - -

tilting through the water,

unruffled, sure,

by the laws

of their faith not logic,

they opened their wings

softly and stepped

over every dark thing.

Looking Ahead to Pittsburgh

The euphoria of Irish Week is behind me. I'm working like mad in the evenings to catch up with garden stuff. Bless Larry's heart, the man has been cutting up onions for the freezer and has done about 15 quart bags. What a guy. He also washes jars so they're ready for me in the evening.

I thought I'd make more dill pickles tonight, but instead I'm working on my workshop and stories for the Three Rivers Storytelling Festival in Pittsburgh this weekend. I'll be presenting a workshop on ballads, so I'm brushing off my memory, updating handouts and just thinking through the presentation. And wishing I had gone ahead and bought an iPod. I had a Zune and it was awesome but it stopped working, with all my stuff loaded on it. I decided it was too much trouble and didn't replace it, but as I prepare for this workshop I am thinking how simple it would be if everything was just loaded on a little iPod. Maybe by the time I do the workshop again in Kentucky in November I'll be back on the techie track again.

Which sounds weird--ancient ballads and technology. But technology is making the ballads more accessible than ever. Some kind souls with a lot of time on their hands have digitized the 5-volume Child ballads; other old, rare books are also digitized and available for free online. It's a regular smorgasbord for ballad scholars and hobbyists. And juxtaposed against that is the ballad singer, who after research, YouTube and downloads, learns and arranges a ballad and sings it in the traditional, unaccompanied style--just the singer and his or her voice.

I think I'm almost ready. Books and handouts are packed, notes have been read, CDs and player are packed. I just need to figure out what to wear, if the heat will continue through the weekend and find a map to the motel. Then I can relax and look forward to hearing the spell-binding tales of Tim Tingle and others, seeing old friends, and making new ones. Storytelling: it's still old-world in a new-world environment.

Wordless Wednesday: Halliehurst

This won't be an entirely wordless post this week!

This is where my class on singing and song performance took place during Augusta Heritage's Irish/Celtic Week. It was built by Stephen Elkins, who was a railroad developer and timber man during the boom days, at the turn of the last century. he built it for his wife Hallie and named the mansion Halliehurst.  Most of the materials used to build the house were from West Virginia.

Our class was held in the library. (Lots of orbs in this photo...hmmm...)

The fireplace in the library. The carvings around the top are the zodiac signs.

Detail of the fireplace carvings.

The front entrance hall.

The ladies' room.

Playing with the camera! Both images are reflections of me as I took the photo.

Front staircase. The woodwork was stunning.

The fireplace in the "Veteran's room."

Not a bad place to have class! There were, I think, three pianos in the house, or perhaps more. I did not take photos of the third floor ballroom with its fairytale stained glass windows; there may have been another piano in that room as well.

Halliehurst is supposed to be haunted, and a couple experiences we had there make me think there is some truth to the story. You can read more about the supposed hauntings of Halliehurst here and here.