Storyteller's Journey: Philippi

So many things to tell about, just from the last three days! I'll continue with Saturday's trip, but there is a lot more waiting to be posted.

We have wanted to visit the museum in Philippi again ever since our hurried stop in the town last year. We were delighted that the museum was open; the attendee proved to be not only knowledgeable but a very good storyteller. Here are some of the things we learned about Philippi from Olivia Sue Lambert (called Susie):


Susie Lambert graciously agreed to pose for a photo with me insude the museum. It was strange to think that in 1985, the museum was under water up to the roof eaves in the great flood that hit that state in the wake of Hurricane Juan.


As we talked, a train whistle sounded and we ran outside to watch the train pass. I was amazed at how close to the building it passed--probably no further away that six feet or less. I watched it through a window inside and it was impressive to see the cars so close-up--yet separated by a mere piece of glass from where I was standing.

This drum was at the surrender at Appomattox and was brought back to Philippi by a soldier. During the terrible flood of 1985 the drum floated to the top of a shelf--where it yet remains.

The extent of the flooding can be seen in photos at the museum. (A book called Killing Waters details the flood in Pocahontas County.)

The Philippi Covered Bridge , designed by Lemuel Chenoweth in 1852. still carries traffic into the downtown area. In 1989 the structure was severely damaged by fire, as you can see in the photos below:

Spanning the river below, the bridge is in beautiful shape today fire that left nothing but the original timber framing. Architects, historians, and local carpenters worked together to restore the bridge to its original look.

Inside the covered bridge. A very cool place.

Some interesting history and trivia about Philippi, as related by Mrs. Lambert:

• Philippi was the site, so state historians say, of the first land battle of the Civil War. According to Mrs. Lambert, an irate mother fired off the first shot, and the federal and Confederate troops each thought the other was firing and the battle was on.



• James Edward Hanger was injured in the battle and his leg was amputated. He returned to Virginia and developed a company that made prosthetic legs. The company is the largest maker of prosthetcis today--the Hanger Orthopedic Group, Inc.



• The main purpose of the battle was the railroads--thus making this the first battle to ever be fought over control of the railroads. The skirmish came to be called the Philippi Races because of the way the Confederates ran away from the scene.

• Lurch of Addams Family fame, was raised in Philippi.

We left regretfully, wanting to spend more time exploring the museum. Oh, the mummies? Yes, we saw them. I can't post photos, however, unless I speak with someone in Charleston because of some bad press the museum received from the media.

I can see both sides of the issue. But the mummies are there, they are eerie and beyond anything I expected to view in my lifetime. Just another strange twist in the history of a pretty little mountain town called Philippi.

On the Road Again

Off to Paden City, West Virginia (home of many of the marbles in the world) and Middlebourne, West Virginia, to tell stories about bugs for their Summer Reading Programs. I get today off my regular job because I worked yesterday at the book sale--sometimes I can avoid using annual leave like that, but it does make for some very long weeks.

So look out world, here come the bugs! Stories and songs on today's list:

Who's in Rabbit's House?
How Dragonflies Came to Be
A Single Drop of Honey
The Goat in the Chile Patch
The Flea Song
The Riddle Song
The Flea
Grasshopper and Ant

...and several others. I won't be able to tell them all, of course--but it's best to have more than enough so I can pick and choose based on the age of the audience. Some of the stories I've chosen for this set use puppets and other props, some use audience participation, and one has a song. All are just plain fun.

See you this evening when I respond to my award from City Mouse!

Storyteller's Journey: on the way to Grafton

We left early Saturday morning for our trip to Tygart Lake State Park to tell stories. We had quite an itinerary planned, and as we traveled, the list of things we wanted to do grew. These storytelling trips become mini-vacations as we stop at places that interest us along the way.

The first stop was in Glenville, at the Common Place restaurant. We found it last week during the West Virginia Folk Festival--a neat little small-town restaurant with great coffee and friendly staff. The place was filled to capacity with people and talk. We grabbed our coffee and headed back to Rte 33 East.

Not far out of Grafton (as we were following a string of motorcycles going 35-30 mph--they were from Virginia and I guess the curves scared them) a blur of black crossed the road. Bear! a small one, probably 200 pounds. He is a small black dot behind the trees on the right in the photo--unfortunately I didn't get a very good shot.





Soon we were in Weston, known for its famous (or infamous) state metal institution that was established when West Virginia was still part of Virginia. A street flea market was in progress, so of course we stopped. I found some treasures for very good prices, but was sad when I got home to discover a blue bottle bought for Ellouise somehow didn't get in my bags. But the lovely cotton print tablecloth from the 30's, a china plate from Silesia (had to look that up on Google), a small tin child's plate with the Big Bad Wolf and Red Riding Hood on it, an old bottle with label for a patent medicine, a piece of amberina glass, and a pretty blue pitcher stamped "made in Japan"--all for $15--made me not feel so bad about the bottle. Next time, Ellouise!



A signpost indicated how far it is from Weston to points west. A long, long way. Weston was actually located close to the geographical population center of the United States in the 1840's--the center has since moved south and west to Missouri. It is now only close to the center of West Virginia; a town that almost died out when the mental hospital closed, Weston is now finding new life in tourism and proximity to an interstate highway. I'm glad--I love small towns, and especially small town downtowns.





About 20 miles east, we passed through Buckhannon as we left Rte 33 and headed north on Rte 20. Buckhannon recently had its city seal painted on a building downtown. It's a lovely painting, but I had to laugh when I realized that the building it was painted on was a tattoo parlor! A building tattoo, perhaps?




We had to turn around and come back to admire this mailbox post made from A-model car parts. Larry identified wheels, fan, and hubs.

As you can see, the trip was a already a blast, and at this point it was only one o'clock in the afternoon! Lots more pics and news from our trip tomorrow.

Graffiti?

Or is it?

A lovely message at the entrance to the parking garage put a smile on the faces of travelers.

Off to Grafton

We're off to Grafton tomorrow morning, and I won't be home until Sunday evening. Our trip includes:






A stop in Philippi to see the mummies and the two-lane covered bridge again;

A stop at the railroad station in Grafton to hear friend Keith tell stories

Another stop in Grafton to see the progress on fellow blogger MK's coffee shop, the Grafton 1-2-3

A storytelling performance at Tygart Lake State Park at 8pm Saturday evening (that's Aaron and James in a photo from last year's trip to Tygart).

Early morning drive back to Charleston so I can work at the library's Street Fair book sale.

Early bedtime Sunday night!

Found Words and Wonder Whys

Have you ever turned your head on the street after hearing someone say something arresting? intriguing? strange? scary?

If you remembered those words, those are "found words." I love to listen to people talking, to catch a phrase here and there and wonder what the rest of the story might be. Two of my favorites:

"I asked him why he didn't call me after he was shot!" (duh)

"There was a funeral but no body."

I added a new favorite this weekend in Glenville:

"And then I shot the dog."

I stopped dead in the street and turned to look at the speaker. She stood in the midst of a circle of women who had sought the shade of a store awning. She was mild enough looking woman, in her middle 30's with short curly hair and a farmer's tan.

"Now there is a story I would like to hear," I told her, "but I think it might be even better to just wonder what the story might be."

She nodded. Being a small-town country woman, she understood perfectly the value of wondering about something overheard.

Sometimes the stories we imagine are better than the actual tale itself.

I wonder: what if the dog got into the chicken house? chased the goats? stole the meat from the barbecue? bit a child? chewed up her winning lottery ticket? dug up her garden?

What sin had the dog committed to be condemned to death? I'm a dog lover, so it would have to be pretty serious for me to shoot a dog--killing livestock or attacking a person are about the only reasons I can think of.

I'm not happy that a dog got shot, of course. But I am intrigued with the possibilities of the story. It's the "what if'" that sparks most writers to write a tale, imagining the possible variations on the question that begins with those two words.

Found words are not the only story starters. A few weeks ago we noticed that all the windows were broken out of a vehicle at the end of our road. A few days later, all the windows were broken out of the second vehicle at the same house. Why? Who was so angry/upset/vengeful that they deliberately shattered the windows? I know most of my neighbors, but the people who live in that house are fairly new to the community.

So the questions remain. The windows seem to be repaired, and there have been no repeat incidents. Did the police get involved and catch the vandal? Crime is so rare here that when it rears its head we're stunned by its viciousness.

But why did it happen? For a writer, the possibilities provide the beginnings of a story.

Here is a wonder-why photo. Can you guess what it is? I'll tell you tomorrow. This photo was taken on interstate 81 in Virginia, and it was impossible to get the whole thing into the picture. But it sure left many opportunities to spin a tale in its wake.


Do you have any found words, what ifs or wonder whys to share?

Blogs Not to Miss

Sharing a few of my favorite online places:

Visit Tovli's Humble Habitat for beautiful poetry and art. Tovli is a West Virginia writer and poet and a leading light of our online discussion groups.

Rurality offers splendid photos of life in the country. The flower photos and recent moonshots are stunning.

The Noble Pig shares life in southern California. Ever see a beach full of lovely water-polished glass? You can, at the Noble Pig. You'll also learn about an old graveyard, hear a McDonald's rant (I'm with you, baby!) and get some good ideas about food and wine. And wonder what the Queen has in her purse.

Poetry: Playing with Cinquains

I like to try different forms of poetry from time to time. The Cinquain is a deceptively simple form--deceptive because although it's short and sounds relatively easy to write, it can actually require a great deal of wordsmithing to complete one.


Below are two kinds of cinquains:

Traditional cinquains are based on a syllable count:
line 1 has two syllables

line 2 has four syllables

line 3 has six syllables

line 4 has eight syllables

line 5 is back to two syllables


Here are three attempts I made at a Type 1 cinquain:

1.

My hand
Shows signs of age
Wrinkles and painful joints
yet still grips a yellow pencil
and writes


2.

Children
All laugh and play
In a universal language
Even when winds of war destroy
Their world

3.

Children
Dance with old grace
As they play summer games
Their voices sweetly chant the songs
Of youth


There is another type of cinquain: the modern cinquain. It is based on a word count; the words, however must be the right kind of words!

line 1: an noun, a title or name of the subject of the poem

line 2: two adjectives describing the title

line 3:- three verbs describing an action related to the title

line 4: four words of any kind describing a feeling about the title--but these four words must make a complete sentence

line 5: one word that refers back to the title of the poem


Here are my Type 2 attempts:

1.
Freckles
Round, orange
Dot splash puddle
Sun-paint is rain-soft
kisses

2.
Cooking
early aromatic
brew fry toast
Come and get it
breakfast

Care to give it a try and share your results?

Morning-Evening

Quick pics from early this morning--fog laying thin on the ridge as the sun rises,
Sharon's house rising through the fog as the moon hangs high above,
and the sun starts to burn the fog away.
Evening: Larry on the brush-hog, cutting the area we call the "flat," although in most places it would be considered a slope,

as the sun finishes its day in a bright glow before descending below the hills.

Good night.

Strange Pictures Found in Strange Places

When you browse through collections of old family photos, you don't usually expect to find this......which looks for all the world to me like a gallows tree. But why would it be in with my mother's old photos? or did it belong with my father's mother's photos? Is it a gallows tree or something else? (Note: it is indeed something else--the Caxton gibbet)

Then there is this photo, carefully pasted in my grandmother's (my father's mother) photo album from the early 1920's.

Hunh? What in the world...
There is fine pencil writing on the back, but it is indecipherable--the photo was glued or pasted down, so when we peeled it sooooo carefully from the black page, a lot of black came with it, and the pencil inscription is so faint that even when I enlarge and darken it I cannot read what my grandmother had to say about the surreal scene above.
If anyone has some suggestions or ideas about either of these photos, I'd love to hear them. I assume, since it was with Mom's stuff, that the first photo was taken in England.
The second is probably from New Orleans, since that's where Grandma lived-- or it could be somewhere else in the South. Beyond that I have no information but a very 'satiable curiosity.
The first picture reminds me of the ballad The Prickly Bush (Child Ballad #95, also known as The Maid Freed from the Gallows-- and by about a dozen other titles).
Hangman, hold you hand,
and hold it for a while
I think I see my own dear mother
coming over the yonder stile

Refrain:
Oh the prickly bush
That pricks my heart so sore
If I ever get out of the prickly bush
I'll never get in it no more
Oh have you brought me gold,
and come to set me free
or have you come to see me hanged
all on the gallows tree?
No, I've not brought you gold,
or come to set you free
I have come to see you hanged
upon the gallows tree

The ballad goes on, with the father, brother and sister coming but unable or refusing to set the girl free. Then her true love comes with gold, and heroically sets her free. For the tune to this ballad, visit Contemplator.com
So, a gallows tree and a few skulls. Care to hazard a guess, or make up a story about these old photos?

West Virginia Folk Festival: Day 2

Breakfast at the Common Place Restaurant--good food, and Yankees and Confederates at the same table! 2nd Virginia and 116th Pennsylvania, to be exact. The fact of the matter was there weren't usually enough Yanks to turn out, so this guy dresses in a Yanks uniform although he's actually a Confederate! They were gracious enough to allow my camera to intrude after my husband commented on the oddity of opposing sides at the same table.
Dr. Patrick Gainer's granddaughter, Molly Callame, led a ballad session in the Oral Traditions tent. To hear her daughter and Molly harmonizing--pure, complete pleasure.

I was surprised and delighted to meet a delegation of ladies from my home county (Jackson) in the Oral Traditions tent). This year's Jackson County Belle is in the center of the group.

Larry is admonished by Eleanor Roosevelt, who apparently rose from the grave for the festival.

More storytellers and poets were featured in the Oral Traditions tent. Friday we featured poets Kirk Judd and Sherrell Wigal and storytellers Suzi Whaples and myself. Saturday I was emcee for the tent, and had a great time introducing and listening to the presenters. I also presented a ballad workshop later in the day (pics to come later, I hope).



Storyteller Ilene Evans had a standing-room only crowd that had organizers scrambling to find chairs. Ilene told the story of Wiley and the Hairy Man (you can find a short reader's theatre version here) and the audience sang along with her in the song about a slave who ran to freedom in Lost John (find a plethora of versions here).

Storyteller Fred Powers raised goosebumps with his tale of being trapped by a roof-fall in a coal mine...

and Rich Knoblich kept the crowd engrossed with Soldier Jack. This is one of my favorites of the Jack Tales cycle.

Poet Cheryl Denise read her award-winning poems to the crowd to complete the program.

Glenville had other interesting sites to see too, like this view of the "old road" through town and over the iron bridge, and the tiny Little Kanawha Bank and Trust Building.

I confess I did not take as many photos as I would have liked. Either I was too busy or the camera was where I was not. Some memorable moments not captured on the camera:

• Ilene telling her stories
• Mr. Bill Bennett, wearing his 50-year-old Glenville Lions Club jacket with pride
• a mandolin player in a wheelchair
• a boy of about 5 years singing harmony with a bluegrass group
• children splashing delightedly through a puddle
• the huge group of square dancers
• old-time music icons like Lester McCumbers, John Morris, Jimmy Costa, Patty Looman and many others playing in jams on the streets
• people meeting and greeting everywhere
• and contrasts : the old-time country life of Gilmer County and West Virginia banging up against, and for the most part accommodating, the new trends and generations.

It was an unusual way to spend my birthday, but it was a whole lot of fun!

West Virginia State Folk Festival in Glenville

I'm home for a few minutes--I headed out to the Folk Festival this morning, listened at the Oral Traditions tent to Kirk Judd and Suzi Whaples, had lunch with Fred Powers and got a quick chat in with Rich Knoblich before it was time for my afternoon session in the tent with Sherrell Wigal. It was very much fun; for the first time, I think, I mixed storytelling with reading a few of my poems. It feels very good to get my poetry off the page and onto the stage. Unfortunately, I have no photos from the tent but I do have a few from around the festival. The real action, I'm told, starts this evening with the big old-time music concert.

Here's a view looking down the main street of Glenville. Still fairly quiet but the crowd is picking up. This little town was flooded just weeks ago, but the downtown area was spared.
In West Virginia, each county home extension club ( called CEOs nowadays) elects a lady to be the county's Belle. The belles are invited to many fairs and festivals and given the royal treatment. Here a few belles run for the bus.

I loved the contrast here. The times they are a-changin' as regards women's fashions!

A hammered dulcimer group hammers out a tune. You have to hear hammered dulcimers to understand how beautiful the music is--like angel music, I think.

A fiddler accompanies the dulcimer players.

I'm off again on the hour-and-a-half drive back to Glenville. Had tom come home to pick up Larry, so I had time to post a bit about the festival. more tomorrow, I hope. If you're not far away, do drive over to Glenville. You'll miss a very good time if you don't!

Natural-Born Storytellers

A few weeks ago we had some special guests visit us at our farm. I've known Jason for some years now through the WV Storytelling Guild, and I had met his brother Matthew once, but only briefly. I had not had the chance to meet Shirley, Matt's wife.

Two liars, one young and one old, share a swing and a tale.

Jason emailed to say they were traveling in the area, visiting places of reported ghost sightings. Now you know when someone tells you that, you're just naturally intrigued! I invited them to make our place a stop on their journey.

Matt and Jason grew up in Pendleton County, West Virginia, in one of the state's most remote areas. Their lives are measured by the great flood of 1985 that decimated so many communities in eastern West Virginia. For Jason and Matt, all events are referenced as being "before the flood" or "after the flood."

Being raised in such a remote area, the brothers have a cast of colorful family members that star in the many stories they tell. These guys don't bill themselves as professional storytellers, but they certainly could rival the best with their tales of life in the back country. in the photo above, Matt is telling a story about "Uncle Fudgy." I can't retell it, you just had to be there.

Shirley's upbringing in southern West Virginia provided her with her own store of stories to tell. Passionate about mountaintop removal, Shirley's book, Bringing Down The Mountains, was published last fall by WVU Press. Just knowing that she wrote that book made me love her from the start. But her wit and sly humor completely endeared her to me. It was icing on the cake to learn that she also sings ballads. We didn't sing on this visit, but I'm looking forward to the next.

What impressed me so much with these young people is that all three came from a background with few resources. But their intelligence and determination propelled them through degree programs at West Virginia University.

Still country at heart, they bring the depth and breadth of education to understanding who they are and where they come from. They love their home, are committed to their state, and are eloquent and entertaining when they share their journey in fascinating, entertaining and thoughtful conversation and writing.

To see a little of Jason and Matt's homeplace, visit Jason's blog. And for information on West Virginia ghosts and paranormal occurrences, Jason's website, West Virginia Spectral Heritage, is outstanding.

I can't wait to have them visit again. And I owe them a jar of jam--I forgot to give it to them when they were here. Shame on me!

Night on the Ridge

Last night I had a storytelling performance at a faith-based youth work camp near Hamlin, West Virginia. The performance went well; I loved hearing the kids chanting, "Granny Sue, Granny Sue!" when I was finished.

The drive home was tough. I was tired; my normal day starts at 5:30 am and ends around 11pm. But last night I didn't get back to the ridge until 11:30. The moon was full and the sky had only drifts of clouds floating. Tired thought I was, I stopped up on the high knob a few minutes to watch the moon and listen to the night.

It's different at night on the hill. During the day there are dogs barking, people out and about, maybe the sounds of heavy equipment as another gas well is drilled or the state road crews are at work. But at night, it's different.

A faint breeze rustled the hay in the field that has not yet been cut, and a deer barked at my intrusion. Far down Bucket Run, a great horned owl called her lonesome cry. The clouds crossed lightly over the moon, and the light on the soft gray hills shifted and glowed with shadows. One light, two, three--Sharon's, Rick's, and Mark's were the only lights in sight, and theirs were soft porch lights that respected the importance of darkness.

I stayed and listened, filling both my mind and my ears with the night. The air was soft, a caress that lifted my hair gently and brought the sweet scent of honeysuckle on its fingers. I wanted to stay right there for the rest of the night.

I couldn't do that, of course. Day brings demands of work and home that need me to be rested and ready. But those few minutes on the hill in the dark were indescribably reviving, reminding me of why it is that I drive so far and work so hard to stay here.

Last Week's Storytelling Journey: Goin' Across the Mountains 2

More pics from my recent trip across West Virginia:Along Rte 28 between Seneca Rocks and Petersburg.

Such crowded country!

Along Jordan Run between Rte 28 and Rte 42. In the mountains above this valley is the area called Dolly Sods, and incredible wilderness area (about which I have a funny personal story I should tell sometime).

Just outside Maysville, WV. The old house is perfect in its setting, isn't it?

Ah, journey's end in sight--my oldest son's driveway!

Storytelling Journey: Traveling to Franklin

Faithful poppies continue to beautify this abandoned home long after the owners moved away. I always wonder why someone would leave a home to rot away. While this isn't a fancy place, it's certainly liveable, or was when they left. Now the windows are borken out and vines are moving in. But the poppies still bloom as if someone were caring for the garden.
Some signs are worth a stop and a picture. I laughed at this one, because the place is anything but dismal. It's a pretty little hollow located in the same area as the photo below. (Although perhaps it does suit the little house above).



Just down the road from Dismal Hollow. See what I mean? The old bridge is decommissioned, and I wondered it it was a victim of the great flood in 1985. Jason and Matthew told me that for them everything in their lives is remembered as being "before the flood" or "after the flood." A true watershed event in their lives.

Another lovely homestead. I could have taken photos like these all day long and not traveled very many miles. I think many of these places may have stayed in the same family for generations. That kind of continuity shows in the loving care given to land and buildings. I wondered what the little building in front used to be: a school, church, or post office?

These silos are true West Virginia Mountaineer fans, with their blue and gold tops!