Wordless Wednesday: Looking Back at Summer

Sometimes I Have to Wonder

picture from wikipedia commons


Signs always attract me.


Today, with no camera in hand, I saw this one:


Elk Hills Memorial Park: Special Sale. Buy one lot, get a second lot FREE!



Ummm, I'm pretty sure I just need one. Unless I gain a LOT of weight. I only expect to die once, honestly.

I know, I know, the idea is the second one is for my spouse. But really, a BOGO sale at a CEMETERY? I've been laughing all day. I can imagine the conversation:

"Honey, they've got this sale going on at the cemetery and I got a great deal on your lot. It was free!"

"Free! Did you pay for your lot?"

"Yeah, but I got yours free! Isn't that great?" (Imagine man all pumped up and feeling good about how he'd scored.)

"So I get the free one and you get one that you probably paid thousands of dollars for. Is that all I mean to you? You will just plunk me into some free lot when I die and think, "Gee, I sure got a great deal on getting her planted?" (Insert heaving bosom and sobs here.)

"Aw, honey, I didn't mean it like that! I just thought it would save us some money when, you know, when the time comes....look, you can have the lot I paid for and I'll take the free one." (Manly stroke of brilliance lights his face. He's sacrificing for his true love.)

"You think I would put you into some crummy free lot? You think I would do that to you? You have no idea how much I love you, how much I care about you. I would never do such a thing to you." (Sinks into a chair, seeking hankie. Poor, befuddled man stands by. He's in a no-win situation.)


Okay, back to our discussion. We'll have to leave John and Mary and the Elk Hills Memorial Park to sort things out.


Adams Family Funeral Home: Yes, West Virginia, there really is an Adams Family Funeral Home, and it's not in West By God. It's in Cumberland, Maryland. I did a doubletake when I saw this place listed as a sponsor in the program for the Jean Ritchie program recently. Of course I thought it was a joke so I looked it up later. No joke. It's a real place.

Another conversation:

"Aunt Lou passed away, Helen."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. When is visitation?"

"Friday at 7:00. I hope you can come. She thought so much of you."

"I will be there. Which funeral home are you using?"

"The Adams Family Funeral Home."

(Insert a loud laugh)

"Really. For a minute you had me going there, Ethel. I thought Helen had really passed on."

"She did. On Wednesday."

"Oh sure, and I bet the funeral director is named Gomez and a guy named Lurch drives the hearse. Probably some lady in a long black dress named Morticia greeting the guests?"

Now, not to make light of the dead, or the good folks at the Adams Family Funeral Home (hiding a grin) but would you not think they'd be happy enough just to call it Adams Funeral Home, or Adams and Sons or something else? Maybe they're hiding grins too. Why not laugh in the face of death? It is after all part of living. (Although I'm kinda looking over my shoulder as I type)


And that reminds me of yet another funeral home: Leavitt Funeral Home, which is conveniently located next to a hospital. No worry with transport there.

To lighten the mood a little, I noticed this sign on the way to work this morning:

"Fall Flooring Sale. Ask for Joy."

Okay, I'm game. I need a little joy in my life. If asking for it at the lumber yard will bring it to me, it's worth stopping to ask.

I bet you know of other places with similar names, and other signs that could be interpreted in a manner completely different from what was intended. Got any to share?

First Fires and Last Flowers

Spiritual

Laundry flaps on drooping lines,
leaves float in gray
October

rain threatens; clouds pile dark
shapes hurry in bundled coats
gathering

dry clothes from line and pin,
pile into wicker baskets;
chill

air turns noses cherry red,
mist turns to driving
sleet

pelts on windows golden
with the warmth of
fire

within the dry safe haven
of small country houses,
braves

the coming frigid cold
and darkness of
November

c2006 Susanna Holstein

Temperatures tonight are going to be in the cool 40's, and tomorrow does not sound like the air is going to warm up much. Fires are glowing in the stove and the fireplace so the house is cozy.

Larry has been dragging in wood, almost all of it trees downed in the high winds last Spring, or trees he cut last year, so the wood is good seasoned stuff that makes for good heat. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to warm a house with green wood.

The flowers bloom valiantly on, but with these cool days they will not be with us long--except for the hardy mums that start blooming when everything else is giving up. And the pineapple sage that drops brilliant red into the garden most unexpectedly in late August-early September. A few roses hang on and one bush has buds that just might make it before frost.

It's okay with me for the summer season to end. I like the turning of the year, although as I get older the changes seem more poignant than when I was younger. Now I pay closer attention to such things.

In August I begin noting the first tinges of yellow in leaves, the ripening of seedheads on grasses and the first falling acorns.

In September I listen for the last whippoorwill call, note the earlier coming of darkness each day, and count jars in the cellar.

In October I will be watching for first the maples, then the poplars and ash and last the oaks to turn fiery red, bold yellow, deep maroon and finally all shades of russet before gray becomes the forest's uniform. First frost will finish the flowers for good and all. I will gather seeds into envelopes and write the names of the flowers and the year of harvest on them so I will not forget them.

By November the days will be very short, dark on rising and dark when I return home in the evening. I will cook more, simply because there will be time for it. I will be on the lookout for the first snowflakes, the first real freeze, and make sure the birdfeeders are full. We will harvest venison and put it by.

December will bring plans for the coming of light again. Candles will flare in the windows and spices will fragrance the air. Fires will burn brightly every day. I will note each day's additional minutes of light after solstice, and we will welcome the new year with fire, friends and festivities.

So the cycle goes, each month bringing new yet familiar rituals. There is no month I can name as my favorite; each gifts us with something worth seeing and having. And each one I celebrate because I am still here to do so, and hope to be here celebrating many more turns of the seasons.

September Sunday: Random Thoughts

Dawn was dark and gray, but sunlight broke through and all day the patterns of light shifted from brilliant Fall day to somber Fall day.

We finished the turkeys this morning and all five are now snugly nestled in the freezer. We don't just roast them for holidays; we eat turkey as a standard meat because it is so low in cholesterol and fats. So it would not be unusual to visit us and find the house filled with the smell of a roasting bird--minus stuffing because that stuff(ing) is just not good for us.

The chickens are laying well finally. The young chicks we raised this year are flaying so we have eggs for egg salad, breakfasts, baking and to give away. Two people cannot consume a dozen a day, but I wish there was a way to can these things. I will probably freeze some for use in baking. Eggs can be frozen but breaking, scrambling, freezing in ice-cube trays and then bagging up when they're frozen solid. The daily basket includes colors from blue and green to light tan and dark, rich reddish-brown. We've had a few double-yolks lately too, always a nice surprise.

Larry left for Fairmont this afternoon to change the brakes in our youngest son's car. We tend to do all our own car repairs (at least, Larry does them, not me) but Tommy is not a mechanic and rather than have him pay a shop, Larry made the drive and got a chance to visit son #4 and his family and son #5 at the same time. I stayed home to work on story research, laundry and do some cooking for the week. A Sunday treat is listening to public radio because Thistle and Shamrock is on, an hour of Celtic music. Pure listening pleasure.

Cooking today: rye bread in the breadmaker, which is still in progress so we'll see. I had no recipe so I'm winging it. Roasted chicken to use in recipes this week, and banana muffins for breakfasts and to pack in my lunch.

I did get out to pull a few weeds, play with the dogs and pick rose hips. Rose hips are an excellent source of vitamin C, and I will use them in teas this winter.




I am enjoying the flowers picked yesterday too. Fall flowers seem brighter, as if trying to get a last flash of brilliance before frost.

Now it's evening, the house is quiet and it's time to get back to studying. Another good day, another good weekend. And so hard to believe this is the last September weekend of the year. Time is flying by.

September Saturday

Fall gardens lend a little color on a gray day.

This weekend is really Fall, no doubt about it. Rainy, cool, and dark. First fire in the fireplace. So far, it's also been a very fine weekend.


Yesterday we started out with our morning tea (me) and coffee (Larry). I had to show him the People of Walmart website. It has to be seen to be believed, and it is every bit as bad as you are imagining right now. I can't decide if it's funny, sad, scary, or degrading--maybe all of the above. Whatever it is, it's horribly fascinating to see what people think is an okay outfit to wear in public.


Breakfast at the Downtowner was quiet, none of the usual crowd there. I had some research to do at the library on a couple of new ghost stories. The librarian reminded me of the afternoon "Southern Social" being held in the afternoon to kick off the county's Big Read. She was counting on me to come and tell a lie at the Liars Contest. I knew we had turkeys to dress out at home, but promised to be there.


We came home and got to work on the birds. We have a system--Larry does them in and plucks them, I do the innards cleaning, finish up any odds and ends of plucking and cleaning on the outside and wrap the birds for the freezer. While Larry got the first bird ready for me, I tried out my new bread machine for the first time. It's a Cuisinart and I can already tell I'm going to have fun with it.

Turkeys are much, much easier to clean than chickens! In about 15 minutes I can have a turkey ready for the freezer, but the chickens took at least 30 minutes each. The reason is that the turkeys provide a much larger opening for cleaning, and since these are white turkeys plucking is much easier. The bronze turkeys are hard to pluck cleanly, I think.

A good crowd in the pouring rain. No one seemed to mind a little dampness.

I sped back out the door after giving my hands a thorough cleaning and got to town just in time for the Social. Rain was falling in buckets but the library staff and their helpers erected tents on the courthouse lawn and forged ahead. No one seemed to mind the rain. About 150 people, I would guess, milled about under the tents, sampling the good food and drinks, picking up their copy of To Kill A Mockingbird and generally having a good time. There was no microphone available which was challenge for the speaker and for those of us who were there to tell lies, but we managed.

A contest participant entertained the crowd with a lie in the form of a song, The Bricklayer's Lament, one of my favorites. He did it perfectly.

Rather than try a story, I opted to sing The Swapping Song which includes audience participation so I could keep the group focused despite the noise of town traffic. The audience was more than willing and we had a fine time with the song. Any crowd willing to stand out in the rain to celebrate a reading kickoff has to be people who like to have fun. And we did!

The Mayor of Ripley is a real ham!

Back home, I cleaned up in the kitchen, talked to Terry McNemar of WV Writers for a while about next summer's conference and waited for the bread to finish. It wasn't perfect, but for the first try it isn't bad. This is from the Honey Wheat Bread recipe. A bit lopsided, but it tastes wonderful.

Larry lit the fireplace to take the chill off and settled down with a John Wayne movie (I know he's seen every one at least five times), and I picked flowers for the tables, and read through the material I had collected for my story research.


A visit from one of our sons, his daughters and a friend closed the evening. We enjoyed the fire, talked, listened to a little of my new CD and had little blackberry cobbler while the night gathered outside.

Skywatch Friday

A September evening sunset over a lake near my son's house.

CD Title: A Winner!

This is one of the photos I hope to use on the CD. It's my granddaughter Kate in the Greenwood Cemetery near Sistersville, WV.

Thank you all again for the creative suggestions for the title for my new CD of ghost stories.

After reading through all your ideas several times, I decided to use this:

Beyond the Grave: Ghost Stories and Ballads from the Mountains.

And the winner is:

Jason!

Jason gets a free CD as soon as I get the finished product. Congratulations, Jason, and thank you for the suggestion. I tweaked your wording a little, but it fit perfectly what I wanted for the title.

Now, to update you all on the project:

Tonight I finished the editing process with the recording studio. I thought we were finished Monday night, but I discovered an error that had to be corrected--I could not live with it the way it was. So we took care of it tonight, Bob printed out the tracklist and tomorrow I will ship the CD, tracklist and money to the CD company.

I emailed the text for the insert tonight, and I'll send the photos I want the graphics guy to use tomorrow. I still have to write the text for the tray card, which will probbly just be my contact information and track list. And some photos.

Once all that is sent, I wait for the graphics guy to send me proofs to approve. I expect there will be some tweaking to do. I've already told him no blood-and-guts, dripping letters, skulls, etc--these aren't horror stories, they're ghost stories. We'll see if he understands my meaning.

I had really wanted to have the CD finished by the WV Book Festival, which is now only two weeks away. That is not going to happen, unfortunately, so I'm missing a good sales opportunity. But that is what it is and I can't do anything about it. I should certainly have them for several other October performances, so that's good. And I will try to list the CD on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online sites. Another learning curve ahead. I also hope to have it juried and accepted by Tamarack, the big West Virginia arts and crafts center.

The end is in sight, and I am getting excited. It's been a year since I started this; the project stalled last year and I finally got back to it this month. It will be very good to get it finished.

Once upon a Time

Recently we followed this float as a parade was beaking up. I thought it appropriate for a storyteller to be in this precise place at the perfect time!

Which makes me think that it's time to post a new story. This is from Joseph Jacob's collection More English Fairy Tales, which is in the public domain.

I love to tell this tale!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her, and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things.

He said to her: “What will you call me?”

“Master or mister, or whatever you please sir,” says she.

He said: “You must call me ’master of all masters.’ And what would you call this?” pointing to his bed.

“Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir.”

“No, that’s my ’barnacle.’ And what do you call these?” said he pointing to his pantaloons.

“Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call them ’squibs and crackers.’ And what would you call her?” pointing to the cat.

“Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call her ’white-faced simminy.’ And this now,” showing the fire, “what would you call this?”

“Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call it ’hot cockalorum,’ and what this?” he went on, pointing to the water.

"Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir.”

“No, ’pondalorum’ is its name. And what do you call all this?” asked he, as he pointed to the house.

“House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir.”

“You must call it ’high topper mountain.’”

That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said: “Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum.” .... That’s all.

Wordless Wednesday: Around Joe's Run

The Beekeeper



End of the Trail

Beached

Down the Lane

Morning Pedestrian

(ruffed grouse, the first I've seen in some time)

Remembering No. 9: Stories from the Farmington Mine Disaster

Remembering No. 9: Stories from the Farmington Mine Disaster is a play created at Fairmont State University that explores one of the worst mining disasters in the West Virginia, at the Farmington #9 mine.

I was fortunate enough to see a small part of the play as it was being developed last spring and it was riveting. Fairmont State is located about 25 miles south of Morgantown, WV on Interstate 79. It's an easy drive from Pittsburgh, Columbus, Cumberland, and Charleston.

I am sharing (with permission) an email below about the play, sent to me by Fran Kirk

Fairmont State University presents
Remembering No. 9: Stories from the Farmington Mine Disaster
An original theatre piece
September 25, 26, 27, 29 and 30
Box office 304-367-4240



About the production
The inspiration for Remembering No. 9 came from my fascination with the Sago Mine Disaster. As I sat staring at my television for several days, I could not imagine what the friends and family members of the trapped miners might be feeling or how they endured the waiting. I wondered what people might be talking about as they waited in the little country church or what they were thinking during the public announcements. But mostly, I wondered how they endured the heartache of losing the ones they loved.

When I returned to campus, I talked about these things with Samantha Huffman, Celi Oliveto and Jason Young, students in the Department of Communication and Theatre Arts and our conversations naturally turned to that of “story.” As theatre artists, we value, perhaps crave, the story behind the facts, and it was this desire for story that lead us to explore the stories in our own backyard, the stories about the tragic accident in 1968 at Consolidation Coal’s Farmington No. 9 Mine.

With funding from the FSU Undergraduate Research Program, Samantha, Celi, Jason and I sought the help of professional oral historians, Michael and Carrie Nobel Kline. The Klines provided us with training and insight into the world of oral history collection. For the next several months, the students sought out and interviewed wonderful people who so generously shared their memories, about their husbands, fathers, brothers, uncles and friends as well as the events of that horrific day, November 20, 1968, and the days and years to come. Some shared newspapers clippings, others photographs. Some simply talked, but it was clear that it was important to everyone involved that these stories be told.

In August 2008, Celi and Samantha presented a workshop about their research at the American Alliance for Theatre and Education Conference in Atlanta where we met Greg Hardison, a museum theatre specialist at the Kentucky Historical Society. Again, through the generosity of the FSU Undergraduate Research Program, we were able to contract Greg and playwright, Donna Ison to help us. They provided us with examples of museum theatre and helped us develop a “treatment” that included the goals for our production and a scenario of the action.

Just 8 weeks before the opening of the May workshop performance, a cast of actors and writers was selected. The cast talked with Bob Campione and Reverend Dick Bowyer (whose stories anchor the show) and quickly began to improvise scenes for the play based on information from those discussions, interview transcripts and information found in newspapers and websites. Armed with the treatment, research and improvised dialogue, the cast, working in small groups, began to write the play.

During the workshop rehearsal period, scenes were read aloud, discussed and revised. As time grew closer to the opening day of the workshop production, writing responsibilities were handed over to the student researchers and Steve McElroy, an FSU theatre graduate. As we began staging act 1, we were still writing act 2. While staging the play, we continued to make discoveries about the characters and their stories, and we continued to revise our work. During our workshop performance, we held talkback sessions with the audience. Since the last performance, we have used the feedback to further develop and revise the script. The cast, crew and audience from the workshop production made this revised production possible. I will be forever grateful to them for sharing in this project.

We have taken some dramatic liberties with the story. The characters in the play are creations based on the research. As a result, many of the names will not be recognizable. Likewise, the time period may not be recognizable. We have not attempted to recreate the details of 1968. Our goal is to tell a story in a way that is interesting, educational, and artistic and that honors the stories of No. 9.

Francene Kirk
Associate Professor of Communication and Theatre Arts
Fairmont State University
304-367-4170

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I did a quick search on the No. 9 mine, I found this discussion. It underscores how such events continue to affect lives even today.

More information on the development of the play, background information and quotes from survivors is here.

For a news article that ran in local papers the day after the explosion, go here. There is another article here, with a small photo of the explosion.

Of the 99 miners working in the mine at the time of the explosion, 78 did not survive and 19 were entombed in the mine when it was sealed. You can visit the monument that memorializes these men not far from the town of Farmington.

photo from http://www.wsws.org/articles/2006/jan2006/memo-j25.jpg

Jean Ritchie and Frostburg Appalachian Festival

We got an early start yesterday morning and arrived in Frostburg with plenty of time to find the storytelling venue. We also connected with one of my long-ago friends.

One of the best things about blogging is the people you meet, and in this case the person was someone I'd attended elementary school with and had not seen in over 40 years. Debbie and her husband drove up from northern Virginia to meet us and hear the storytelling. What a pure pleasure to link up again after so long! Debbie had found my blog and has been a reader for about a year, and we've renewed our long-ago friendship. Her husband was a lot of fun too, and a great companion for the day. Debbie brought along a photo of our 3rd and 4th grade classes from the small Catholic school we'd attended. It was surprising how many of the people we could recall.

Debbie, me and Ellouise Schoettler

Storytellers for the concert were Katie Ross, me and Ellouise Schoettler. Katie's husband Otto provided banjo music between sets and for the occasional sing-along. We had a small but steady audience and the afternoon went well. Once again ballads proved to be a popular part of my performance, and I was glad for another opportunity to introduce people to these old songs that so many are unfamiliar with.

Singing Railroad Boy. Like many ballads, this one has an unhappy ending, but the melody is haunting and memorable. Ballads were sung unaccompanied in the beginning, but now there is often an instrumental accompaniment. I sing in the traditional unaccompanied style.

We spent some time wandering the festival grounds, listening to music and looking at the crafts available. I was happy to find some fresh-ground buckwheat flour for pancakes. Then it was off to dinner at Guiseppe's, an Italian restaurant in Frostburg. Conversation was lively, as you can imagine. We said goodbye to Debbie and her husband and headed off to the Jean Ritchie concert.

One of the spontaneous jam sessions that sprinkled the grounds. The young man in the center wearing the tan hat was a great singer and performer.

When Jean Ritchie arrived at the Palace Theatre in downtown Frostburg, a hush immediately fell over the long line of people waiting to enter the theatre. To their credit, no one rushed up to her and tried to talk to her...but cameras, including mine were certainly flashing! I felt almost guilty, like a paparazzi, as I snapped a few photos of Jean and her two sons making their way inside.

The opening act was obviously raw and perhaps new the performance stage. They enlightened the audience about their aunt, Ola Belle Reed of North Carolina, a songwriter whose most famous song is the bluegrass tune "High on a Mountain." I like that song and was interested to hear about its creator. I have to say I've heard better bands, but then I can't play a note so who am I to judge?

Then Jean Ritchie took the stage.

What can I say about Jean Ritchie? Her long history as a folk music pioneer, bringing her family's ballad-singing tradition to the world in the 60's, her contribution to the appreciation of the mountain dulcimer, her original songs against strip-mining and even now her writings in opposition to mountaintop removal, her voice that has gained character and resonance with the years, her grace and dignity onstage and her comfortable, front-porch style of performance that made us all feel like we were the only one she was talking to? Or what about the songs and the background on them that she shared? Her two sons performed with her. Their care of their mother and their gentleness was a tribute to this family's love and their awareness that she is indeed a national treasure.

Jean sang a ballad she called "The Walking Song" because people where she grew up often sang it as they walked along the branch (creek) in Kentucky where she grew up; she sang Shady Grove, Skin and Bones, Nottamum (Nottingham) Town, her anti-stripmining anthem "Black Water." (You can hear a version of her singing it when she was younger on YouTube.) Cool of the Day was my favorite, a reminder to us all to care for this earth we have been gifted. There were others, too. I did not write them down because I was mesmerized by her voice and presence on the stage as she talked simply about her music, her family and her love for her homeplace in Kentucky.

Jean and her sons onstage.

It was an evening I will long remember. If you do not know Jean Ritchie's music, do try to find some and listen. Hers is the voice of the mountains, distilled into words and music. Being there to hear her in person was worth every minute of lost sleep and long travel.

I heard through a friend that Jean will be performing during the first week of October in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, for another Appalachian Festival. I checked their schedule, and Jean is scheduled for Saturday, October 3rd. Click here to read about this festival and information on performers.

On the Road Again: The Appalachian Heritage Festival at Frostburg, MD

I'll be on the road to Frostburg, Maryland tomorrow to tell stories at the Appalachian Heritage Festival with my friend and fellow blogger Ellouise Schoettler, and also with storyteller Katie Ross and her banjo-picking husband Otto.

Tall tales are on the menu, so it should be a fine old time.

Click here for festival information on the Frostburg State webpage. Storytelling is in the Chapel from 1:30-3:00 pm.

The evening concert features Jean Ritchie:

(from the webpage)
CAPSTONE EVENING CONCERT
Jean Ritchie and Family
8 PM • Historic Palace Theatre • Main St., Frostburg
Winner of a 2002 National Heritage Award from the National Endowment for the Arts,
the country’s highest honor in the Folk and Traditional Arts, the legendary Jean Ritchie
has been delighting audiences for more than 50 years. Her songs have been recorded by
Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Emmylou Harris and many more. In concert, Ritchie opens the
door on the music of the Kentucky mountains.

The youngest daughter of 14 children, Ritchie grew up in the Cumberland mountains
of Kentucky, learning traditional tunes, songs and stories from her close-knit family
and eventually performing those at her county fair in Hazard. In the 1930s Ritchie’s
family, the Singing Ritchies, was recorded by Alan Lomax for the Library of Congress.
After graduating from college in the mid-1940s, Ritchie found herself in New York,
where she soon became swept up in the early Folk Revival Movement, becoming friends
and colleagues of musicians Pete Seeger, Leadbelly, Woody Guthrie and many others.
Recognizing the value of her family traditions, Ritchie took the stage once more. By
1949 she’d become a regular of Oscar Brand’s Folksong Festival.

Perhaps her greatest mark on traditional music is the one she’s made on the popularity
of the Appalachian mountain dulcimer. Having learned to play as a child, the mountain
dulcimer is her instrument of choice. With her husband, George Pickow, the two have
crafted and sold hundreds of dulcimers. And Ritchie has authored several instructional
and tune books on the instrument and released multiple recordings featuring the
dulcimer.

The value and volume of her work as a musician and a collector of traditional ballads and
songs has earned her the title, the “Mother of Folk.” Today, Ritchie is often joined by her
sons who are passing on their family’s musical traditions to future generations.

So will I be there? You bet! I hope to see some of you tomorrow too.

Trampoline Chickens

The other day I wrote aboout Trampoline Man, the rooster my son found on his trampoline a few months ago. Trampoline Man is now the King of the Roost, having outlasted fifteen other contenders for that position.

A postscript to the story:

Two weeks ago Derek reported that a lone hen had found her way into his yard. His daughter Haley put the hen on the trampoline to keep her safe from their black Lab Jake, who was far too curious about the new visitor.

The next morning, the hen was clucking loudly so Haley went to check on her. She'd laid an egg on the trampoline. Scrambled eggs, anyone?

These are some of my hens, perfectly respectable ladies who know their place.

The following day, two more hens had joined the first. Jake seems to have given up. He's apparently resigned to the hen party in his back yard.



Where are the chickens coming from?



We have no idea, but apparently the trampoline is like an amusement park for poultry.




My hens know where to lay their eggs...except sometimes they miss the box. No one's perfect!

Story Quiz Answers

Did you try the Story Quiz yesterday? If you've been away from stories for a few years you might recall some of the plots I listed, but not the whole story or what it was called. Storytellers who read this blog probably know the list all too well, as all of these stories are favorites of many tellers.

Folktales and fairytales often have more than one version, or variant, so there could be several "right" answers for each of these.

Here is the list, with links to online versions:

1. Girl is turned out by her father, wears a coat of furs she makes herself, becomes a kitchen maid, marries the prince.

The English version of this story is called Catskin or Catskins, among other titles. According to Wikipedia, other names for the story are Little Cat Skin, Cap O' Rushes, Donkeyskin, Allerleirauh, The King who Wished to Marry His Daughter, The She-Bear, Mossycoat, Tattercoats, The Princess That Wore A Rabbit-Skin Dress, and The Bear. I have also read a similar story called Rushycoat. The story can be considered a Cinderella variant, since the girl rises from poverty to marry a prince.

2. Cruel stepmother makes girl go to spring for water in cold weather. Girl meets an old woman and helps her. Old woman gives her a special gift. Girl goes home, stepmother sees the gift, sends her own daughter to the spring. Daughter is rude to the old woman, and gets a different gift. Of course, the sweet girl ends up well, and the daughter and mother? Not so well.

I love this story! I know it as Diamonds and Toads, or Toads and Diamonds. When I tell it to children, you can see in their eyes how vividly they are visualizing the story. While I'll admit that sometimes I'd like the girl to stick up for herself and not be such a pushover, the images of jewels falling from her mouth and snakes and lizards from her stepsister's are compelling. The Surlalune Fairytales site has an excellent annotated version of the story and a list of variants online. On Once Upon a Blog, you will find more discussion of the story and a video telling of the tale.

3. A man catches a talking fish (don't you love stories? A talking fish!). The fish grants him three wishes if the man throws him back in the river. Man goes home, tells wife about the three wishes. They argue about how to use the wishes and end up wasting them all, and sadder but wiser for the experience.

This of course is The Three Wishes. Again, the strong story images captivate children, and the droll humor makes it fun for the storyteller too. It is a very simple story to learn to tell, and was one of the first I picked up first telling it as a flannelboard and later as a freestanding story. For variations on the theme of using wishes foolishly, the Pitt e-text site is a great resource.

4. An old man has nothing to eat in his cabin. He goes hunting, taking his three dogs. Doesn't get anything. He returns to the cabin, sees a creature's tail along the wall, grabs it, cuts it off and cooks it. Later that night, hears the creature calling outside his cabin. Calls his dogs who run it off. Creature comes back, this time only two dogs come to chase it. Finally no dogs come and the old man faces the creature alone.

One of my vary favorite to tell for its spooky atmosphere and "jump" ending, Tailypo as been told in the mountains for years. And wonder of wonders, we can now see and hear the immortal storyteller Jackie Torrence tell the story online at Bookhive! Jackie passed away a few years ago but remains one of my favorite tellers. Her eyes do as much telling as her voice. For a discussion of various print versions of the tale, see Applit.

5. A Queen has 12 sons, wants a daughter. Promises a witch that she will give her the sons for a daughter. The girl is born, the King learns of his wife's promise and hides the sons in a faraway place. The girl grows up, is wandering in the forest, gets lost and comes upon a quaint cottage. She goes inside, and soon 12 young men come in--her brothers. They are not happy to see her. They into swans because of a spell the old witch put on them and the only way it can be broken is if the girl makes them each a shirt and does not speak until all twelve shirts are completed and the boys put them on. They fly away. The girl has many misfortunes, but makes the shirts. She is tied to a stake and about to be burned when the 12 swans fly in, grab the shirts from her and put them on. The last shirt is missing a sleeve, so that brother retained a wing when he returned to human form.

This is my favorite folktale from childhood, called the Twelve Wild Swans, The Six Wild Swans, The Swan Brothers, or simply Wild Swans. The most well known version of the story is by Hans Christian Andersen.

Story Quiz: Do You Know These Tales?

How well do you know your folktales and fairytales? See if you can answer these:

1. Girl is turned out by her father, wears a coat of furs she makes herself, becomes a kitchen maid, marries the prince.

2. Cruel stepmother makes girl go to spring for water in cold weather. Girl meets an old woman and helps her. Old woman gives her a special gift. Girl goes home, stepmother sees the gift, sends her own daughter to the spring. Daughter is rude to the old woman, and gets a different gift. Of course, the sweet girl ends up well, and the daughter and mother? Not so well.

3. A man catches a talking fish (don't you love stories? A talking fish!). The fish grants him three wishes if the man throws him back in the river. Man goes home, tells wife about the three wishes. They argue about how to use the wishes and end up wasting them all, and sadder but wiser for the experience.

4. An old man has nothing to eat in his cabin. He goes hunting, taking his three dogs. Doesn't get anything. He returns to the cabin, sees a creature's tail along the wall, grabs it, cuts it off and cooks it. Later that night, hears the creature calling outside his cabin. Calls his dogs who run it off. Creature comes back, this time only two dogs come to chase it. Finally no dogs come and the old man faces the creature alone.

5. A Queen has 12 sons, wants a daughter. Promises a witch that she will give her the sons for a daughter. The girl is born, the King learns of his wife's promise and hides the sons in a faraway place. The girl grows up, is wandering in the forest, gets lost and comes upon a quaint cottage. She goes inside, and soon 12 young men come in--her brothers. They are not happy to see her. They into swans because of a spell the old witch put on them and the only way it can be broken is if the girl makes them each a shirt and does not speak until all twelve shirts are completed and the boys put them on. They fly away. The girl has many misfortunes, but makes the shirts. She is tied to a stake and about to be burned when the 12 swans fly in, grab the shirts from her and put them on. The last shirt is missing a sleeve, so that brother retained a wing when he returned to human form.

So, how did you do?

Tomorrow I'll give the answers with links to the stories. I will not be surprised if there are some readers who know them all.

(I believe all the images on this page are public domain. If you know of one that is not, please let me know).

Wordless Wednesday: Flowers Wild and Domestic

Joe Pye to Jewelweed in the wild,
but Goldenrod makes the transition to a tamer environment.

Forsythia blooming in summer adds an interesting touch, as does copper fennel and pineapple sage, to garden arrangements.

Last Rooster Standing

The crowing is finally down to one lone voice. The last three roosters joined their brethren in the freezer this evening.

I think even the hens are relieved. The Chicken Idol Contest is over and the oldest of them all is the winner.

I had the bright idea this Spring to buy straight-run chicks, raise and dress the roosters for the freezer. We bought 32 chicks and we ended up with fifteen roosters.

While the chicks were growing, another rooster came to live at our house. It happened like this.

The phone rang one evening. It was our son Derek.

"Hey, you guys need a rooster?"

As it happened, we did.

"Do you have one?" Where, I wondered, would Derek get a rooster? He didn't keep chickens. He didn't even have a chicken house.

"Yeah, I got one. Found him on the trampoline this morning."

Now that was a rooster I had to have. Derek brought him over. It turned out that the rooster had jumped up on the trampoline to get away from a dog and found it to be a very safe haven. Where did he come from in the first place? No one knows. But a trampoline-jumping rooster is just the right kind of guy for our place.

As our young chicks got older, I realized that we had some beauties. Silver-laced Wyandottes, Rhode Island Reds, Barred Rocks, all kinds of pretty young fellas strutted the run. Then they began to find their voices, and bedlam ensued.

Somewhere I had picked up the misguided notion that roosters don't crow until their six months old. I am here to verify that they start between three and four months and by five months are at full throttle. With 15 young ones and Trampoline Man down there, the chicken house sounded like a brass band warming up.

After talking it over, we decided that we really wanted to keep a Silver Laced Wyandotte rooster because they were so incredibly pretty. If you have never had chickens, you may be wondering why didn't we just keep two roosters. Have you ever tried sharing the same house with two males? Multiply that by the enormous ego of a rooster. What you have is trouble. It doesn't matter if you have fifty hens, two roosters will fight, and usually to the death of one or both. They are ruthless and vicious and scary to watch when they get into combat. (I wonder if anyone has considered using them in the military? I can see it now, ranks of roosters marching in formation...)

What to do with TM, though? The idea of putting him into the freezer didn't sit well. Derek considered taking him back, but with no coop and many dogs in his neighborhood, the chances for survival even with the trampoline nearby weren't good.

We decided in the end to keep the old man. Maybe if we hatch chicks they'll have long, lean, muscular legs.

In the meantime, there is only one ruler of the roost tonight. All the others are quietly resting in the freezer, all 60 pounds of farm-raised meat waiting for our winter meals.

I have a feeling Trampoline Man is relieved. He's keeping pretty quiet tonight. Perhaps he noticed that those noisy fellows left and didn't come back, and he's not taking any chances?

Good News from Writing Friends

Recently many friends have shared good news happening in their artistic lives:

Eric Fritzius, who produced the podcasts with me a few weeks ago, will have one of his plays onstage at StoFest in Wheeling this weekend. For information about the festival, go to The WV Writers blog. Eric continues to produce podcasts featuring West Virginia's writers so be sure to check the blog often for new episodes.


Janet Smart, a member of my writing group Appalachian Wordsmiths, has a story included in the anthology Christmas Traditions: True Stories that Celebrate the Spirit of the Season. The book is available on Amazon.com and other sites. Janet was also recently accepted as a children's columnist for Two Lane Livin' so look for her first article in the October issue. And don't forget to check out her blog, Writing in the Blackberry Patch.







Another writing group member, Lois Casto, has a new book in print. Titled Bequest for Nathan, this book is the second in Lois' series about the Bandelow family. Azariah's Legacy, the first in the series, was published by Headline Books. You can read an interview with Lois online here.








Max Price learned recently that one of him poems will be included in the new book called Coal Country: Rising Up Against Mountaintop Removal. Max's poem was also included in Coal: An Anthology. Max is also a member of Appalachian Wordsmiths.

The film documentary of Coal Country has been opening to large crowds and good reviews. I hope to see it soon. The book is exciting two ways for me: Max's poem will be in it, and the book was authored by my friend Shirley Stewart Burns, wife of blogger Matthew Burns of Appalachian Lifestyles. Shirley also wrote the critically acclaimed Bringing Down the Mountains.

Matthew was featured this past Sunday on Dave Tabler's Appalachian History blog's podcast. Matthew's blog provides first-person history of the Pendleton County region of West Virginia, and includes folktales, ballads, family stories and folklore. You can still hear the podcast, so go listen if you want to hear some good storytelling.

Storyteller Lorna Czarnota has a new book hitting the shelves this week: Legends, Lore and Secrets of Western New York.

I am sure there are other friends I should have included. I am happy to know that so many are doing such good work, getting their work published and getting the recognition they deserve.

Congratulations to all!

A Saturday Ramble; or The Monster Festival that Wasn't

September is a slow storytelling month for me this year; only one gig, and that is next Saturday at the Appalachian Heritage Festival at Frostburg State University in Frostburg, Maryland. So our September weekends are for the most part free. This feels odd after a summer of making engagements or canning food every open weekend. When we got up yesterday the question was, what to do?

Now there is always plenty to do around here: things that have to be done like laundry and cutting firewood, for example. Then there are the things that need to be done: weeding gardens, freezing the celery from the garden and drying basil, working on the edits for my CD. Then there are the things we'd like to do: going to festivals, visiting friends, taking road trips. This weekend we opted for #3--doing the things we like to do.

We started the weekend with a bonfire and music with friends on Friday night. Saturday morning we listed our options: go to the Southeast Ohio Storytelling Festival, the Flatwoods Monster Festival, go to St. Albans to hear John Lilly play, go to Culturefest at Pipestem, or to the blues and brews event in Charleston. Plenty to choose from on a pretty day!

We opted for the Flatwoods Monster Festival. This festival is based on events that happened in 1952 when what appeared to be a UFO landed on a farm in a remote area of West Virginia. The story is fascinating and the events have never been fully explained to anyone's satisfaction. We'd never been to the festival and I've always wanted to so off we went, with an understanding that we would stop at interesting yard sales and anything else that intrigued us along the way. The route to Flatwoods took us east on our favorite road, US Route 33. When we came to our turnoff on Route16, we noticed the Calhoun County Farmer's Market at the corner. And who did I see there?

"Stop," I yelled to Larry. Car came to a screeching halt. "There's Sue Cosgrove!"

And indeed, there was fellow Two Lane Livin' columnist and organic grower Sue, beaming behind her stand of plants and vegetables.

We had a good gab, a great hug, and the blue bowl of little tomatoes went with me for road food.

We stopped at several yard sales along the way too; I'll write about them later this week.

When we arrived in Flatwoods, the small community was strangely quite for a place hosting a festival. Where were the booths, events, people in costume or whatever else they did for a festival celebrating alien lifeforms? We stopped to ask and learned some disappointing news: the festival was held last weekend. Hunh? September 12th was the date of the occurrence, and this was September 12th!

I suppose the reasoning of the festival planners was that traffic was heavier on Labor Day, people were looking for something to do, and there were already quite a few festivals for the 12th. We decided to meander around town anyway, and saw this sign:

That, of course, enticed us further, and I'll have more about this interesting place later this week.

We left Flatwoods and headed north to Bulltown State Park, site of a Civil War battle over a covered bridge on the Weston to Gauley Bridge turnpike, a major route in central West Virginia in the mid-1800's. There are still trenches visible, and Larry decided to follow the interpretive trail through the battlefield. I was more interested in the historic Cunningham farmstead on the property and spent my time exploring the buildings, creek, cave and the remnants of the turnpike that were still visible. Again, more pics later this week.

The Cunningham homestead, and below a peek through the kitchen window.

When we left Bulltown we decided to head north and west toward home on Route 5; although we've been along most portions of this road, there are sections we don't know, and the piece between Heaters and Burnsville was one of them. The road offered spectacular rural scenes, like this one below. I didn't take many photos because the light was fading, so you know what that means--another trip in the future.

We had hoped to get back in time to go to the evening storytelling concert in Chillicothe, but that was not to be. It was almost seven when we arrived home. A friend came to visit and the day ended was another fire in the firepit and good conversation.

Today, it was back to business as usual. The laundry is caught up, dishes done, the celery chopped and frozen with the help of a friend, basil is drying, wood has been cut and split and now it is evening again and time to prepare for another work week. But we have our weekend memories of friends, places, and history...oh, and five more wineglasses, a set of tractor chains and...but all that is for the yard sale post.