Storytelling Storytelling: Plants, Rain, Wales

Yesterday was a storied day, with tales ranging from the story of the violets and bloodroot, to rain weatherlore to a Wales exhibition and Appalachian stories.

Peter Stevenson of Wales, Mary Morgan Smith of Pittsburgh, Jo Ann Dadisman of Morgantown, Judi Taroesky of Weirton, and me at the Welsh art and storytelling exhibition at the Monongalia Arts Center in Morgantown.

We were up early to make the drive to Beech Fork Lake State Park in Cabell County, WV. The morning threatened rain but thankfully it held off. We arrived early enough to browse the vendors' wares and bought some lucscious tomatoes and strawberries. There were arts of all kinds too, but I restrained myself and just admired from a distance.

My storytelling session had a good attendance of people who were interested in the topc: nature folklore. We ranged from discussion of the sweet violet to my vowed enemy ground ivy to sassafras, trees associated with the Crucifixion to a long list of weatherlore about rain. I wove stories throughout the session, and we could easily have gone on for another hour or more. I am excited about this new addition to my repertoire and plan to continue growing this program.

One thing that happened is a good example of why it pays to over-prepare. The park had a sound system and so I didn't need to bring one--but I decided to bring along my little portable system just in case wires got crossed, as can easily happen when people are planning a new event. As it happened, they had a good system, but the microphone wouldn't work. They even tried a different amp with no luck. So my little system came in very handy.

We set out for Morgantown after this session, and I admit it was hard to leave. Such good people! But time was pressing and we had a 3 1/2 hour drive ahead of us. The rain continue to hold off, and we arrived in Morgantown with about 10 minutes to spare before showtime. I crowded a lot of visiting into that ten minutes!

The Morgantown event was a collaboration showcasing the bridge between Appalachian and Welsh cultures. It had been a full day event, with an evening storytelling and other things the evening before. How I wish I could have been there for the whole thing! Our storytelling guild's concert was the final event of the exhibit, with Appalachian stories as the theme. We heard old favorites like Old One-Eye, Lazy Jack and Sody Sallyratus from Mary Morgan Smith, and Ashpet, and a unique story of the Maiden of Monongahela told by Jo Ann.  Since Ashpet is the mountain version of Cinderella, I had to follow up with my cracked version, Rindercella. I sang a couple ballads and told my original story Gracie's Cabin. It was a good session with excellent examples of Appalachian stories and storytelling.

We were home late, tired and satisfied. Today we are both slugs. Larry is napping and I am messing about with glass, identifying antique pieces and listing a few things. Tonight will be dinner with my #3 son for a late celebration of his birthday.

All in all, a pretty perfect weekend.


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

For a Friend: Pontycymer and Connectedness

The jury seems to be out on the spelling of this town's name. is it Pontycymer or Pontycymmer? It's pronounced, as well as I can tell, Punt-tee-COME-er. I googled the pronunciation and have to tell you, the online pronunciation is wrong according to how we were told it is said by the people who live there. The spelling is also debatable, being spelled with a single or double m almost interchangeably. I understand that the single m is the correct spelling, but the other persists. For more on Welsh pronunciation, look here.

This side trip was made for an online friend whose father was born in Pontycymer. I looked on the map and saw that this town was about an hour out of our way, one way--and the only way out seemed to be to backtrack the way we'd come in. But we had all day to get to our next destination, and we were intrigued by the town's history as a coal mining town and its location so far up the Garw valley. So we set the SatNav and off we went. The way there took us close to Cardiff, the capital of Wales. We really did not want to go there; neither of us enjoy cities, particularly large ones at rush hour.

Fortunately we just skirted the city's edge, and then we were off on narrow, twisting roads, where we feel more comfortable. The SatNav map often looked like this:

We did find the town, though, right after we passed through Pantygog (I love Welsh placenames).

The road basically deadends into the mountain ahead, that was mostly shrouded in fog when we were there.

It was a busy morning in town, and not easy to find parking. We found a 20-minute space, and were worried about getting a ticket, but locals assured us we'd be okay for at least an hour. Whew.

A wide variety of shops line the streets; this one with the wide doorway made me wonder if it led to the old livery stables.

A small park, planted with three young trees, stands at the entrance to town. I walked up to look at it, and found it was a touching memorial to a recent Mid-East war soldier.

We stopped in a shop with collectibles of all kinds and met owner Wayne and his mother, Glenys Steel. She was full of stories about the town, and Wayne and Larry talked motorcycles. What fun we had there! I came out with a spoon for my West Virginia friend and a book and a plaque for me. Again, I could have filled the car, but I was being astonishingly careful for a change.

Glenys told us about a memorial to victims of a mining disaster at the Lluest Colliery on August 18, 1899, so we kept an eye out for it on our way out of town. Somehow we missed it on the way in.

Across the road from the memorial, Larry pointed out the old road leading to the mine.

The memorial is a simple, old-fashioned mining cart, the type used when miners pulled them by hand, loaded with coal. A brass plate lists the names of the men killed in the mine.

So many, so young. you can read their names on this website.

Part of the old mine loading area across the road. There are pictures of what this mine looked like on this webpage.

 As we left Pontycymer, green hills once again embraced us. Healing, somehow, after the sadness of the memorial we'd just visited.

 Many Welsh miners moved to America seeking a better life, and many of them ended up in West Virginia and other Appalachian coal-producing states.  Glenys gave me contact information for the town's historian, which I have passed on to my friend. This out-of-the-way trip was time well spent, meeting new friends and realizing how linked we all really are.

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

A Welcome Place: Merthyr Tydfil

Our host was not at home when we arrived in Merthyr Tydfil, so we made our way to the local pub where my phone would work and I could call to see when she might be in. By this time, we were both longing for something cold! The Red Lion was not actually open; the doors were open but there were workmen and vans out front. Ever hopeful, Larry stuck his head in to ask. The painter said, sure come on in!

Which we did, He pulled a beer for Larry and poured a perfectly chilled white wine for me and assured us the owner would be in soon. In the meantime I was able to reach our host by phone; she was unexpectedly called away from home for a few days but had everything ready for us, and her best friend would meet us to show us around the house. 

The owner of the pub had come in by then and he was curious about these two strangers in his pub. When we explained why we were there, he told us that he had just returned from Columbus, Ohio where he'd been visiting his daughter who was a designer for Abercrombie & Fitch. Columbus is only 2 hours from our home in West Virginia--another small-world moment. He suggested we come back down once we got settled in our b&b. 

This was the sight that greeted us when we returned to the b&b. Is this not delightful? This house was once a miner's cottage, a semi-detached high on the hill overlooking the city. 

 And look at this kitchen! I felt right at home here. Hidden behind the cabinet doors are a washer, fridge, and dishwasher. And don't you love that farmhouse sink.

Everywhere were perfect vignettes, proof of the care and love the owner had for her home.

The listing on AirBnB said that the stairs were winding and steep, and that was no lie. We were very careful negotiating them!

 In the extensive gardens, another farmhouse sink, this one being used as a planter.

The walkway along the front of this unit of about four homes.

One of many sitting places in the garden, looking over the city far below. It was so quiet here, odd to think so much activity was taking place down there and we couldn't even hear it.

We took up the suggestion of the innkeeper and returned to the Red Lion. I wondered as we went in, would they mind us being there? The owner, had said that there were all locals who came every evening. Would we be in their way, intruding on their time together?

 I worried for nothing. As we walked in the people in the bar all raised their glasses in greeting and shouted, "West Virginia!" We were immediately at home, surrounded by interesting and interested people who came from a variety of professions--accountants, research scientists, automotive industry executive, a government tax inspector, a nurse and others.

When I told people we were going to Merthyr Tydfil, the reaction was always the same: "Why? That's not very nice down there. Industrial, ugly." But that was not our experience. We found the people and the place fascinating. Granted, we did not get to explore the town, but the little slice of it we experienced made us want to return someday to see more.

It may not be tourist-pretty, but it's real, and that is what interests me most.



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

On the Moor: Garage Sale, Elephants and Where Are We?

We took a meandering route from Aberystwyth, following the coastline of Wales for a while before we turned inland. I do not seem to be able to get enough of looking at water. What is it that draws us so? I am a terrible swimmer, hate getting my face underwater, but I will stand and watch it for hours.

We stopped for coffee at Aberaeron (aber means mouth of a river), and while we sat drinking our oh-so-welcome hot drink on this chilly morning, we got into conversation with two gentlemen who were doing the same thing. They too were on holiday, visiting from Cornwall. The younger man, Steven, told us about his youth growing up by the sea. "There was a big rock, about  a half mile out from shore, that we would swim or boat out to. We'd dive off the rock into the water, and when the tide went out, we'd explore the caves under it and also the ones along the shore. We were mad! We would dive off the high cliffs there along the shore too, never thought a thing about the danger. Young and fearless, we were."

His father told us that he had been a tin miner in Cornwall until the mines closed. I asked him, "What does tin ore look like?"

Larry and the tin miner. It sounds like the conditions of the miners in Cornwall were very much like those of West Virginia coal miners.

He thought a moment, and then said, "Coal. It looks like coal, black like that, but with what look like crystals." I did a search when I got home, and found this picture of tin ore on Wikipedia. "Black tin" is the name for tin mined in Devon, England and in Cornwall.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_tin

I found this old postcard image of a Welsh tin mine also on Wikipedia. Later we would see some of the old workings on our travels.

Too soon, we said goodbye to our new friends, and left the sea behind us.

We were soon back in the green hills.

 There were a few obstacles along the way. Road construction seems to be everywhere on the island. Can you read that sign?

 As we drove through one of many "tree tunnels," we saw a familiar sight: a car stopped while two men have a chat. I guess this isn't only done here in West Virginia!

 Then there was this "heavy equipment on the side of the road,

 properly marked with a caution sign. We saw the wheelbarrow in the village of Penhew-llan as we were turning around because of this sign...

Seriously! You know we had to look.

 This is Ella Cook with her little boy Rufus. She raises funds with her sale for a variety of charities, and believe me, I could have filled our car with the great things she had for sale.

In the end I settled for a couple books, this gorgeous Welsh wool jacket which fit perfectly,

and these two copper and brass vases that must have come out of a church.

The road narrowed and I was often questioning the wisdom of the SatNav. The scenery changed to rougher land,

 and there were more obstacles...

Soon we wound down from the moor and into the quaint, charming village of Llansawel. We were so craving tea or coffee, but no place was open. Fortunately, however, we discovered a public toilet-these are scattered all over Britain, it seems, and very well marked. Perhaps that is because of the many public footpaths, or perhaps because the national drinks of beer and tea require more frequent need?

It was in the public restroom that I discovered the strange story of the Llansawel Elephant, Lizzie.

I wish my photo of the sign had come out more clearly. I was using my phone because the camera battery was dead once again. The story is that in 1888 a circus came to town with a huge African elephant named Lizzie. For some reason the elephant died while in Llansawel, a great loss to the traveling circus.The owners decided to have her stuffed to recoup some of their money. Apparently the elephant's remains that were removed for this gigantic taxidermy project were buried in the town, under the town hall, or as a recent article claims, under the very place our car was parked. The stuffed elephant was in the Swansea, Wales museum until the 1950's when moth damage required her to be permanently laid to rest. You can read an excellent, detailed article about the elephant of Llansawel by clicking here.

Eventually we found ourselves back on a two-lane highway, and into the mountains and the park known as the Brecon Beacons.

At last, our destination on a sign!

And then we were in Merthyr Tydfil, and found our b&b, as promised, "as high up as you can go until the road runs out."

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