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Tuesday, February 26, 2019

It's Tell a Fairy Tale Day!

I almost missed it. But thanks to storyteller Lyn Ford I still have time to tell you a fairy tale.

My favorite fairy tale is The Wild Swans, hands down. Why? Probably because as the oldest daughter I had always to look after the yunger children, and felt empathy with the girl in the story. Second, I admire her strength and determination. So here it is, my favorite fairy tale (which I knew by a different name, but oh well):

The Six Swans

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm


A king was once hunting in a great forest, and he chased his prey so eagerly that none of his men could follow him. As evening approached he stopped and looked around, and saw that he was lost. He looked for a way out of the woods, but he could not find one. Then he saw an old woman with a bobbing head who approached him. She was a witch.

"My dear woman," he said to her, "can you show me the way through the woods?"

"Oh, yes, your majesty," she answered, "I can indeed. However, there is one condition, and if you do not fulfill it, you will never get out of these woods, and will die here of hunger."

"What sort of condition is it?" asked the king.

"I have a daughter," said the old woman, "who is as beautiful as anyone you could find in all the world, and who well deserves to become your wife. If you will make her your queen, I will show you the way out of the woods."

The king was so frightened that he consented, and the old woman led him to her cottage, where her daughter was sitting by the fire. She received the king as if she had been expecting him. He saw that she was very beautiful, but in spite of this he did not like her, and he could not look at her without secretly shuddering.

After he had lifted the girl onto his horse, the old woman showed him the way, and the king arrived again at his royal castle, where the wedding was celebrated.

The king had been married before, and by his first wife he had seven children, six boys and one girl. He loved them more than anything else in the world.

Fearing that the stepmother might not treat them well, even do them harm, he took them to a secluded castle which stood in the middle of a forest. It was so well hidden, and the way was so difficult to find, that he himself would not have found it, if a wise woman had not given him a ball of magic yarn. Whenever he threw it down in front of him, it would unwind itself and show him the way.

However, the king went out to his dear children so often that the queen took notice of his absence. She was curious and wanted to know what he was doing out there all alone in the woods. She gave a large sum of money to his servants, and they revealed the secret to her. They also told her about the ball of yarn which could point out the way all by itself.

She did not rest until she discovered where the king kept the ball of yarn. Then she made some little shirts of white silk. Having learned the art of witchcraft from her mother, she sewed a magic charm into each one of them. Then one day when the king had ridden out hunting, she took the little shirts and went into the woods. The ball of yarn showed her the way.

The children, seeing that someone was approaching from afar, thought that their dear father was coming to them. Full of joy, they ran to meet him. Then she threw one of the shirts over each of them, and when the shirts touched their bodies they were transformed into swans, and they flew away over the woods.

The queen went home very pleased, believing that she had gotten rid of her stepchildren. However, the girl had not run out with her brothers, and the queen knew nothing about her.

The next day the king went to visit his children, but he found no one there but the girl.

"Where are your brothers?" asked the king.

"Oh, dear father," she answered, "they have gone away and left me alone."

Then she told him that from her window she had seen how her brothers had flown away over the woods as swans. She showed him the feathers that they had dropped into the courtyard, and which she had gathered up.

The king mourned, but he did not think that the queen had done this wicked deed. Fearing that the girl would be stolen away from him as well, he wanted to take her away with him, but she was afraid of her stepmother and begged the king to let her stay just this one more night in the castle in the woods.

The poor girl thought, "I can no longer stay here. I will go and look for my brothers."

And when night came she ran away and went straight into the woods. She walked the whole night long without stopping, and the next day as well, until she was too tired to walk any further.

Then she saw a hunter's hut and went inside. She found a room with six little beds, but she did not dare to get into one of them. Instead she crawled under one of them and lay down on the hard ground where she intended to spend the night.

The sun was about to go down when she heard a rushing sound and saw six swans fly in through the window. Landing on the floor, they blew on one another, and blew all their feathers off. Then their swan-skins came off just like shirts. The girl looked at them and recognized her brothers. She was happy and crawled out from beneath the bed. The brothers were no less happy to see their little sister, but their happiness did not last long.

"You cannot stay here," they said to her. "This is a robbers' den. If they come home and find you, they will murder you."

"Can't you protect me?" asked the little sister.

"No," they answered. "We can take off our swan-skins for only a quarter hour each evening. Only during that time do we have our human forms. After that we are again transformed into swans."

Crying, the little sister said, "Can you not be redeemed?"

"Alas, no," they answered. "The conditions are too difficult. You would not be allowed to speak or to laugh for six years, and in that time you would have to sew together six little shirts from asters for us. And if a single word were to come from your mouth, all your work would be lost."

After the brothers had said this, the quarter hour was over, and they flew out the window again as swans.

Nevertheless, the girl firmly resolved to redeem her brothers, even if it should cost her her life. She left the hunter's hut, went to the middle of the woods, seated herself in a tree, and there spent the night. The next morning she went out and gathered asters and began to sew. She could not speak with anyone, and she had no desire to laugh. She sat there, looking only at her work.

After she had already spent a long time there it happened that the king of the land was hunting in these woods. His huntsmen came to the tree where the girl was sitting.

They called to her, saying, "Who are you?" But she did not answer.

"Come down to us," they said. "We will not harm you."

She only shook her head. When they pressed her further with questions, she threw her golden necklace down to them, thinking that this would satisfy them. But they did not stop, so she then threw her belt down to them, and when this did not help, her garters, and then -- one thing at a time -- everything that she had on and could do without, until finally she had nothing left but her shift.

The huntsmen, however, not letting themselves be dissuaded, climbed the tree, lifted the girl down, and took her to the king.

The king asked, "Who are you? What are you doing in that tree?"

But she did not answer. He asked her in every language that he knew, but she remained as speechless as a fish. Because she was so beautiful, the king's heart was touched, and he fell deeply in love with her. He put his cloak around her, lifted her onto his horse in front of himself, and took her to his castle. There he had her dressed in rich garments, and she glistened in her beauty like bright daylight, but no one could get a word from her.

At the table he seated her by his side, and her modest manners and courtesy pleased him so much that he said, "My desire is to marry her, and no one else in the world."

A few days later they were married.

Now the king had a wicked mother who was dissatisfied with this marriage and spoke ill of the young queen. "Who knows," she said, "where the girl who cannot speak comes from? She is not worthy of a king."

A year later, after the queen had brought her first child into the world, the old woman took it away from her while she was asleep, and smeared her mouth with blood. Then she went to the king and accused her of being a cannibal. The king could not believe this, and would not allow anyone to harm her. She, however, sat the whole time sewing on the shirts, and caring for nothing else.

The next time, when she again gave birth to a beautiful boy, the deceitful mother-in-law did the same thing again, but the king could not bring himself to believe her accusations.

He said, "She is too pious and good to do anything like that. If she were not speechless, and if she could defend herself, her innocence would come to light."

But when the old woman stole away a newly born child for the third time, and accused the queen, who did not defend herself with a single word, the king had no choice but to bring her to justice, and she was sentenced to die by fire.

When the day came for the sentence to be carried out, it was also the last day of the six years during which she had not been permitted to speak or to laugh, and she had thus delivered her dear brothers from the magic curse. The six shirts were finished. Only the left sleeve of the last one was missing. When she was led to the stake, she laid the shirts on her arm. Standing there, as the fire was about to be lighted, she looked around, and six swans came flying through the air. Seeing that their redemption was near, her heart leapt with joy.

The swans rushed towards her, swooping down so that she could throw the shirts over them. As soon as the shirts touched them their swan-skins fell off, and her brothers stood before her in their own bodies, vigorous and handsome. However, the youngest was missing his left arm. In its place he had a swan's wing.

They embraced and kissed one another. Then the queen went to the king, who was greatly moved, and she began to speak, saying, "Dearest husband, now I may speak and reveal to you that I am innocent, and falsely accused."

Then she told him of the treachery of the old woman who had taken away their three children and hidden them.

Then to the king's great joy they were brought forth. As a punishment, the wicked mother-in-law was tied to the stake and burned to ashes. But the king and the queen with her six brothers lived many long years in happiness and peace.

I recently read the story of the Children of Lir, and like it very well too. They also were turned into swans.
Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Monday, February 25, 2019

March Winds, A Little Early

The wind has been crazy wild here the past day or so, and it's still blowing hard.

It's nice in some ways. A lot of leaves have left for some other country, and loose branches have come out of the trees.

It's made a mess though. We've played pick-up in the yard as things blow hither and thither. And this morning, woke up to this, a tree down behind the cellar:


What a close call that was! The freezer is in that building on top of the cellar. A lttle more downhill and we'd have been calling the homeowner's insurance. As it is we just have a mess to clean up.

Our poor swing took a hit too. Do you see that piece of a branch laying across the top of the swing?


That branch was in the big maple, some 30 feet away. Seriously! It blew all that way to break the swing. Luckily it missed the van on its way.



We'd been keeping an eye on that chunk, trying to figure out how to get it down--it was cradled between two branches pretty high up in the tree. Now we don't have to worry about it. Just need to fix the swing.

So today will be clean-up day, if the wind ever lies down. Until it does, I think we'll just stay inside in case any more random chunks of wood go flying by.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Rain and Boggarts


We are once again getting drenched with rain that pours straight down in sheets. It reminds me of those rain showerheads that are so popular these days. Everywhere is mud, and puddles and impromptu streams. We are not even letting the chickens out today since we don't have hipwaders for them.

I am comfortable as can be, however, thanks to the new roof we had put on a couple years ago. The gas fires are keeping the house warm, the lamps keep it cozy, and I have stacks of books I am working through as I develop my stories for the upcoming Celtic programs.

I am discovering such fun stuff in my research, too. Exploring the Irish fairies (the Sidhe, pronounced shee), and boggarts and bogles and black dogs and more. Here is one story I love, and plan to tell during the program. I won't even attempt dialect or accent, however; it's far too easy to mess those up, as we all know from bogus accents in Hollywood films.


THE BOGGART

IN the house of an honest farmer in Yorkshire, named George Gilbertson, a Boggart had taken up his abode. He here caused a good deal of annoyance, especially by tormenting the children in various ways. Sometimes their bread and butter would be snatched away, or their porringers of bread and milk be capsized by an invisible hand; for the Boggart never let himself be seen; at other times, the curtains of their beds would be shaken backwards and forwards, or a heavy weight would press on and nearly suffocate them. The parents had often, on hearing their cries, to fly to their aid. There was a kind, of closet, formed by a wooden partition on the kitchen-stairs, and a large knot having been driven out of one of the deal-boards of which it was made, there remained a hole. [a] Into this one day the farmer's youngest boy stuck the shoe-horn with which he was amusing himself when immediately it was thrown out again, and struck the boy on the head. The agent was of course the Boggart, and it soon became their sport (which they called larking [b] with Boggart) to put the shoe-horn into the hole and have it shot back at them.
The Boggart at length proved such a torment that the farmer and his wife resolved to quit the house and let him have it all to himself. This was put into execution, and the farmer and his family were following the last loads of furniture, when a neighbour named John Marshall came up--"Well, Georgey," said he, "and soa you 're leaving t'ould hoose at last? "--" Heigh, Johnny, my lad, I 'm forced tull it; for that damned Boggart torments us soa, we can neither rest neet nor day for't. It seems loike to have such a malice again t'poor bairns, it ommost kills my poor dame here at thoughts on't, and soa, ye see, we're forced to flitt loike." He scarce had uttered the words when a voice from a deep upright churn cried out, "Aye, aye, Georgey, we're flitting ye see."--" Od damn thee," cried the poor farmer, "if I d known thou'd been there, I wadn't ha' stirred a peg. Nay, nay, it 's no use, Mally," turning to his wife, "we may as weel turn back again to t'ould hoose as be tormented in another that's not so convenient." From The Fairy Mythology: Illustrative  of the Romance and Superstition of Various Countries by Thomas Keightley,1870.
What does a boggart look like? There seem to many ideas on that. Here's an illustration from a book of Lancashire tales, where the above story supposedly took place:


No photo description available.

Off I go, back to the books and more fun and research.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Monday, February 18, 2019

Visitors and Projects

We seldom have company in winter. Living as far from a main road as we do, and with no other place that might be called a destination out here, people have to be coming specifically to visit us, not stopping along the way to somewhere else.

It's nice when people come out. The past month or so we've had the physical therapist and the nurse coming to see Larry through his rehab frm knee surgery. It's nice to see them--they're young and they like this place. I think many young people would not like it, honestly; it's old-fashioned, far from any urban attractions, and bascially far from much of anything, cable, good internet and cell service included.

Last week some young neighbors came over on Valentine's Day evening, surprising us with ice cream cake, a bouquet of candy and some of their home-raised meat. What a treat that was, and such a surprise. This year I hadn't done much for Valentine's Day beyond put out some decorations. To tell the truth, I was still kinda hurt that my husband had not given me a Christmas gift, and was childishly "getting back" at him by not giving him a valentine. Well, wouldn't you know the man came through this time with a beautiful card and chocolates! I felt like a heel, as I should have.

So the surprise treats was extra special. Add to that a lovely handmade card from my sister and the day turned into a happy one, and I felt well-loved by the end of it.

This weekend I posted this photo of a chest of drawers we'd just finished refurbishing. It came out so well, considering the poor condition of its veneer when we started. It's heading to our Ravenswood booth.



A friend saw the photo and said she was looking for something like that, but with no paint. As it happened, we had one waiting to be worked on in our workshop. I sent her photos, and she said yes--exactly what she was looking for. So Sunday they drove out to get it, a distance of about 2 1/2-3 hours. I made dinner, they arrived with wine and beer, and we had the best visit before loading up the chest. It was in really good shape and I was not going to paint it; all it needed was a few pieces glued back in place and some pulls replaced. There were a couple pieces of trim missing, but thank goodness my friends agreed that it was too beautiful for a paint brush to be put to it.



I finished this little table this weekend too, and posted a photo. Another friend wants it and at first considered coming out to get it, but we've found a way to get it to her without her venturing out here.
This one will leave today or tomorrow for its new home. We had to put a new top on it, as a dog had chewed up one corner, and I replaced the pulls with some that just looked better--which inspired painting the little flower trim on the back white to match the pulls.



Later this week more friends will arrive, this time to work on stories. My storytelling friend Judi and I will begin presenting our Celtic stories and songs in a couple weeks, so we wanted to get together to go over the details and get our powerpoint of photos tweaked. I am really looking forward to this. I've been reading stories and folklore and choosing photos from my travels for the slide show. So I'll be cooking up some soup and such for these visitors. My books are piled high for research on this program.



I am enjoying this unexpected flow of people through here. The old house seems to come alive, and benefits from a little extra attention as far as cleaning. Nothing like visitors to get us hopping on the dusting.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Friday, February 15, 2019

Chick! Chick! Chick! Chicken Lore!


Who would think chickens would have so many superstitions and so much folklore attached to them? But then of course they would. Humans have been keeping chickens for centuries, valuing eggs, meat, feathers and the propensity of chickens to eat bugs and weed seeds.

Exactly how long has our relationship with the fair fowl existed? Wikipedia says that "Genetic studies have pointed to multiple maternal origins in South Asia, Southeast Asia, and East Asia,[4] but with the clade found in the Americas, Europe, the Middle East and Africa originating in the Indian subcontinent. From ancient India, the domesticated chicken spread to Lydia in western Asia Minor, and to Greece by the 5th century BC.[5] Fowl had been known in Egypt since the mid-15th century BC, with the "bird that gives birth every day" having come to Egypt from the land between Syria and Shinar, Babylonia, according to the annals of Thutmose III." (from wikipedia)

According to some research there are over 19 billion chickens in the world today, surely enough to take over the world if they had a mind. Fortunately, chickens have long been said to have a tiny mind--think Chicken Little--and perhaps that is just as well for the rest of us. (The story of Chicken Little was originally called Henny Penny, interestingly enough.)

1916 children's book illustration for Henny Penny. Artist unknown.

Chickens were once regarded as sacred animals, and to mistreat them could bring disaster, as this story notes:

"Cicero wrote about the sacred-chicken-related folly of Publius Claudius Pulcher in 249 B.C. Seeking approval to launch a surprise naval strike he consulted the sacred chickens aboard his ships. The chickens refused to eat, an ill omen for the upcoming battle. Frustrated, he announced, “If they will not eat, let them drink,” and had the birds thrown overboard. His fleet suffered near annihilation during the battle of Drepanium. After returning home from the humiliating defeat, Pulcher was subsequently convicted or exiled and died soon after. Several other ominous portents of the sacred chickens came true, including the Manicus’s defeat by the Numantines in 137 BC and the death of Tiberius Gracchus." From the blog Superstition Saturday.
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Even today in Key West, chickens are a protected species and it is against the law to kill them, although not illegal to eat them, which seems an odd conundrum.

A rooster roams free near a restaurant where we were eating during a trip to Key West in 2016.

In West Virginia, chickens--roosters in particular--can be weather prognosticators. People say that if a rooster crows before midnight, his head will be wet by morning. If the rooster keeps crowing all day, there will be a hard rain within 12 hours.



Other Appalachian chicken sayings:

It's bad luck to set an even number of eggs.

Thunder will kill baby chicks that are just about to hatch.

To break a setting hen, tie a red ribbon around her neck, with a bow in front on her breast.

If hawks get in your chickens, place a flat rock in your fire grate. the hawks will leave.

If chickens pick their feathers after a rain, it will soon rain again.

A rooster crowing a daybreak will scare off evil spirits and ghosts.

It is unlucky to set a hen in August.

A hen that stands before you and flaps her wings is the sign that good news is on the way.

If you put iodine in the chicks drinking water they won't peck each other.

Thunder will cause a hen to stop laying.

Pennsylvania Dutch lore says that chickens squawking and fluttering about at night means that there will soon be a death in the famiyly. (I am most relieved to report that this is apparently not true of West Virginia chickens, as mine often carry on at night to the point that we go down to check on them, only to find them all looking at us like, "What?" No family deaths ensued after these ruckuses.)

An interesting belief from England says that if a hen lays an egg without a shell, she has been impregnated by the wind, and the egg is called a "wind egg." I have always heard that such eggs (they do happen sometimes, just the egg encased in a membrane with no shell) are laid by hens getting near the end of their laying years.


Some other chicken beliefs from around the world:


If you burn eggshells, the hens will not lay. Which is exactly opposite the practice of many West Virginians who bake the shells and feed them back to the chickens so that they will lay better and their shells will be hard.

In England, pieces of pancake are tossed to chickens and other poultry on Shrove Tuesday. If the rooster eats the pancakes without calling the hens, it's a sign of a poor harvest that year, but if he calls the hens, a good harvest can be expected.

In old Persia, people believed that setting a hen on a cloudy day will cause all her chicks to be black. But if you set her at dark, all the chicks will be pullets.

In France, a piece of iron is put into a setting hen's nest to protect her and her future chicks from lightning.

In Devonshire, England the following was a cure for snakebite: Kill a chicken and put the affected area immediately into the chicken's stomache cavity. Leave it there until the chicken's flash is cold. If the chicken's flesh turns dark, it was a sign that the flesh had absorbed the poison and the person would recover. If the chicken's flesh remained its natural color, it was bad luck for the victim, who probably would not survive the ordeal.

For more chicken history and lore, check out the following:

Smithsonian Magazine: How the Chicken Conquered the World.

Anomaly Info: Facts and Myths: Chickens.

The Cunning Wife: Magical Animls in European Folktales and Lore

Folklore Thursday: Origins of Breaking the Wishbone

Granny Sue's News and Reviews: The Golden Fruit

Granny Sue's News and Reviews: Chicken Riddles


And then there are chicken folktales! Here are ten from all over the world:

The Story of Chicken and Elephant:  from South Sudan

Chicken at the Well: from Africa

Half-Chicken: from Mexico

The Miraculous Hen: from Russia

Mrs. Chory's Chickens: from America

The Hawk and the Hen: from the Philippines

The Hen and Her Chicks: from India

Black Snake and the Eggs: from Africa

The Little Red Hen: from England

The Farmer and the Jackal: from India

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Thursday, February 14, 2019

Many-Colored Days

Although the skies have been almost uniformly gray this month, our life seems to have taken on many colors.

Days often start now with a rush, instead of our usual leisurely pace. We used to get up early enough, but we'd take our time getting moving--having our tea and coffee, reading Facebook and emails and blogs, then making breakfast and having coffee as we planned the rest of the day. After breakfast he would go outside to take care of chickens, pets and birds, take ebay packages up to the mailbox, and putter around with whatever he wanted to get into. I would usually clean up the kitchen and go back to the computer to finish up the morning's reading or list new things on ebay.

Now we get up, get the bed made, get dressed, hustle to get coffee and tea, sweep the floors, get laundry going and hopefully get breakfast before the home health nurse or the physical therapist is here. They don't come every day or even on the same day, but 3-4 days a week one or the other comes to see Larry. So we have to be ready because they like to come early. And honestly, we don't mind because that leaves the rest of our day free.

Lately I've been back into painting furniture, and have finished a few projects with a few more in progress. It's nice to get back to it after a long hiatus, although we're getting crowded up as pieces get finished.

I've been working harder on ebay too, and it's paying off in sales. Lots of sales, everything from faux  fur coats to Fenton glass to vintage jewelry to glass lamp shades. Almost every evening I'm packing something. Pretty cool.

The other thing that's kept me busy is writing and storytelling. I'm writing more poetry than I have in a long time and it feels good. I'm also reading more poetry, and last night went to a poetry reading to share some of my work. It felt good. On the storytelling front I am working on new stories for the Celtic programs coming up in March and April, and also learning to use a data projector so that we can show photos as part of the program. Being a non-techie person this is a learning curve for me but I'm getting there--and I'm happy with the projector I bought which seems to do a very good job and have good quality images.

Today was one of those days filled with variety. First we had both the nurse and the physical therapist come to see Larry. Then I worked on ebay while Larry went into town to get a load of gravel. I also worked on a story and when he got back, I went out to help him unload the stone on our muddy, muddy road. So much rain, along with freezing and thawing weather, had made a mess of our driveway this winter. When we finished we stopped for a glass of wine as a reward for our work, then he went to the chicken house to fix a better way to let the hens out into their yard, and I went back to writing, this time a new poem. And now I am writing this blog. Later we'll pull apart a pork roast that's been cooking all day to make into pork barbecus. Then maybe I'll do some painting on a couple pieces of furniture that are waiting for me.

I love these days. They will end soon enough. The nurse and the therapist will soon stop coming and we'll miss their young company. The Celtic programs will commence and I'll be on the road a bit for that. The grass will start to grow and we'll be busy keeping it cut. Gardens will need to be planted. The year will roll on and we will roll with it. But this time of year, when we can choose what to do and when, is just about my favorite, I think. Even if it is gray and rainy almost every day.



Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Sunday, February 10, 2019

Bargains in Antique Malls?

A few people have said to me, "I don't shop in antique malls. They're too expensive."

Ha! Obviously they've never visited my booths. While I do have some things that might be considered expensive, most of what I sell is moderate in price, and indeed with furniture probably less than you might pay for the same kind of item brand new.

But aside from that, even collectors and resellers can get lucky in antique malls if they keep their eyes open. As an example, here are a few things I found recently:


Smiley Pig small pitcher in Polka Dots. This little one was $8.00 with 20% off. She sells online for $29.99.


Hankscraft Egg Cups: $2 each with 20& off that.They sell for about $19-20 for the pair. They're considered a "go-along" with Fiesta Ware.



Aqua Pyrex 404 Bowl: This is the large mixing bowl in the currently popular aqua color. It was $16.95 with $15% off. Sells for $50-60. These big mixing bowls are harder to find, I think, than the "Cinderella" bowls that have the handles on them.



B&G Danmark Vase: made in Denmark, these uniusual vases have a smooth, beautiful finish. I paid $8 minus 20%, and similar pieces sell for $19 and up, depending on their rarity. I found not one like the one I bought, so it might be worth a bit more than some of the others.

These are just a few of the things I've found for great prices at antique malls. So there is hope for collectors and bargain hunters. The bargains are out there. We just need to keep our eyes open and know what we're looking at when we're on the hunt.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Saturday, February 9, 2019

Marietta Booth Update

Finally! After a month of more of not being able to do much in our booths as Larry recovered from knee surgery, we got back to it. Here's a look at the changes we made to our Marietta booths.

Don't you love these white leather Chromcraft chairs? I think they may have been reupholstered, as the only ones I can find online are brown. These are just so cool. I painted and stenciled the little table between them. Thanks to Joy at A Vintage Green for introducing me to the buffalo check stencil!







White and chrome seemed to be a theme.







This old chair had a large white water stain on the seat. After cleaning that and sanding, I just rubbed brown paint over the seat and dark-waxed it. It came out beautifully, the new paint a perfect match for the old finish. Rubbing in the paint made it act more like stain.


I'm thinking spring! Lots of spring colors here. I painted and distressed, then glazed the table with dark glaze and finished it up with clear wax on the base and General Finishes' Flat Out Flat polyurethane for the top.














Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Thursday, February 7, 2019

Allegheny Echoes 2019: Making Plans

I am so looking forward to leading the creative writing and storytelling class at Allegheny Echoes in June. 



Allegheny Echoes is held annually the last week of June in the beautiful mountains of Pocahontas county, WV. The week offers bluegrass and old-time music classes, a singing class, and a creative writing class. Music is everywhere during the week, and there are opportunities to meet musicians and writers, dance at a square dance, take part in the wild meat cookoff, and so much more 


photo of porch post detail at the cabin where I stay during Echoes

 Even now I am making plans for the week--field trips, guest speakers, writing exercises, etc. 


Poet Kirk Judd, one of the Echoes founders and board members, telling one of his poems at the Master's Concert during Echoes. Kirk usually teaches this class, this year he invited me to lead it. He will stop by to share some poems from the new book of poems by the late Joe Barret that Kirk worked to get published.

One visitor will be Kari Gunter-Seymour, Poet Laureate of Athens, Ohio and founder of WomanSpeak.




The mill at Millpoint, WV, which has been undergoing renovation, is not far from the workshop site and is a fascinating place to visit. The hours it's open are random, though, as it's being done as volunterr work by one great guy. If it's open, I'd like to take the class there for a tour. What stories and poems would such a place spark?




Scenery abounds in Pocahontas county.


Beauty everywhere the eye falls.



The Bing Brothers Band, some of the best old-time musicians in West Virginia. The Bing brothers are also founders and board members of Echoes.




Me, hard at work at the WV Writers Fall Conference.
 I love to write.


Tell me, what would *you* want to do/learn/experience in such a workshop? 



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