Reading, Reading

Summer Reading will soon be upon us! I am fortunate to be invited to tell stories at many libraries during the summer months and always develop a program that fits the national summer reading theme adopted by most public libraries. Having been a librarian myself, I know the deep planning and work that goes into making these programs attractive, fun, and rewarding for the children, teens and adults who participate.

This year's theme, Dig Deep! has so many possibilities for programs it was difficult to chose just one. Dirt, caves, tunnels, mining, earth science, gardening, dragons, underground insects and animals are just a few of the ideas that came to mind. I finally settled on buried treasure. Even in my state of West Virginia stories abound about lost Civil War gold, and then there are the stories of famous jewels, pirate treasure, caves, gold and silver mines...the stories are all out there, waiting to be found and told.

To find the stories, I must read. And read. And read. I read with specific goals in mind: does the story fit the theme? Is it suitable for young audiences? Often my audiences have 3-5 years olds attending, and I do not want to leave them out of the fun, so if a story is too advanced for them, can I adapt it in some way to make it work? Are there places to add chants or movement to the story? What props, if any, might I want to use? Can the story be told with puppets (I often have children use my puppets and guide the dialog of the story as we tell it. It is great fun to tell this way and allows interaction and audience participation.

Then there are songs to find. What songs go with buried treasure, caves and jewels? My quest here may be more difficult, or perhaps I'll have to make one up!

I have collected "treasure chests": little chests of different sizes and shapes that will each hold an item related to a story. An audience member will pick a chest, we'll open it, and that's the story we will tell next. I also have some large "gems" (paperweights really) that will add to the table display. There are so many possibilities, and only so much time to tell all these wonderful tales.

So back I go to the books and planning. Perhaps you will be able to come to one of these programs and enjoy the stories with me? There is always room for another listener, of any age.

The Fairy Cup

Ah, the magic of the old stories! We're getting close to March, the season for stories of fairies and the little people. Here's a bit from a story that paints vivid images in my head. A man who stumbles upon a fairy dance, and what ensues.

 “...Seeing a door open in the side of the barrow he went up to it and looked in, and there he beheld a large and luminous house, full of people, women as well as men, who were reclining as at a solemn banquet. One of the attendants, seeing him standing at the door, offered him a cup.

He took it, but would not drink, and pouring out the contents, kept the vessel. A great tumult arose at the banquet on account of his taking away the cup, and all the guests pursued him, but he escaped by the fleetness of the beast he rode, and got into the town with his booty.

Finally this vessel of unknown material, of unusual colour, and of extraordinary form, was presented to Henry the Elder, King of the English,as a valuable gift ; was then given to the Queen's brother, David, King of the Scots, and was kept for several years in the treasury of Scotland. A few years ago, as I have heard from good authority, it was given by William, King of the Scots, to Henry the Second, who wished to see it."

Excerpted from The Fairy Cup, in Folklore and Legends of Scotland by Charles Tibbits.

Image of the Dunvegan Fairy Cup from Wikipedia.

Home

Recently I was talking with a friend who mentioned that although she had traveled widely in her life, she always wanted to come home to West Virginia. I know what she meant. On my porch I have a slate that reads, "If you're blessed enough to live in the mountains, you're blessed enough."

I am always eager to return to my home in the mountains and to my own front porch. My house is small and certainly not convenient. Internet service isn't dependable, the road is in rough shape, mud is a constant enemy, it is a long way to town. Why does it mean so much to me?

I've lived here for almost 40 years. Prior to when I moved here, the land had its own history. We found arrowheads in the gardens, testament to passing Native feet. Initials are carved in a tree on the bank of our little run. A neighbor now deceased told me about a dead baby found under the schoolhouse on an abandoned road that borders our property. No one knew whose baby it was, she said. Later when I asked her about the story, she did not recall ever having told it to me, or even the story itself. Was it true, or did she confuse it with something that had happened somewhere else? I will never know now because she has passed away. But I remember the story, and continue to tell it because her telling was so vivid and detailed. It is true to me.

Over 70 years ago hardworking people used to live in a log cabin on the same abandoned road where the schoolhouse used to be; when I explored the cabin I found the walls were papered with newspapers from 1938. The people who papered those walls gave the road its name, Bucket Run, because they were paid with buckets of pickled corn and beans when they worked on local farms--or so another neighbor told me, and I like to think it's true.

No one knows exactly when but certainly before 1900 a family named Fulmer had a cabin and a stone cellar on what is now our land. It was below where our house stands. This hollow got its name from the Fulmer's, but only the older people remember it. We did not know there had ever been a house here when we bought this place, and I think how odd it is that we chose to build very near that dwelling site. The Hinzmans bought out the Fulmers and used this side of their ridge land holdings for sheep pasture, and to grow corn, wheat and sorghum. At that time the land was almost completely clear of trees; When we bought the land from a descendant of the original Hinzman owner, it was growing up in brush. Now it is almost all forested.

Along the side of our run and driveway you can still see the faint trace of the wagon road that took travelers from the ridge down to Bucket Run and on to Trace Fork. You have to look close to see it. It is a good place to sit and listen, imagining the rumble and creak of farm wagons, the huffing of horses pulling heavy loads through the mud, and the encouraging words of the drivers.

We have made our own imprint on this land, planting trees, cutting brush, making gardens and putting up buildings. Future generations will dig up marbles, nails, and other oddments and will probably wonder who left these things in the dirt. Like me, they will make up stories and mental images of the people who lived here before them. I hope they paint kind pictures of us.

Family stories like ours are why so many West Virginians who live elsewhere long for home. This is a state of storytellers who pass on from one generation to another the memories of who they are and where they came from. These memories root people to this state, even if they have never actually lived here themselves.

It is the stories, after all, that make a place “home.” It is our history, and the histories of all those who passed before us that make where we live a place to return to again and again, even if only in memory. It is not the buildings, the flowers, or the furniture. It is the stories that bring us back to the place we call “home.”

Telling Personal and Family Stories

Grandson James telling me a story

An old toy at a flea market makes us remember when we played with one just like it, fifty years ago. Tasting a certain food or passing a place from our childhood can recall good times--and bad--long past. These are stories that need to be told, that are as important in our lives as the stories we find in fairytale and folktale collections. They keep us in touch with our roots and allow our descendants to understand a little of how we—and they—came to be who we are today.

How can you find the story in a memory? Here are a few simple tips to get you started:

How Do I Get an Idea for a Personal Story?
Have a list of questions that ask about specific life events. For example:
Do you remember your first day of school?
What were you wearing?
Did you walk or ride the bus?
Did you know other kids or was it a strange and scary place for you?
Who was your teacher?
What was he/she like?
Were you afraid of them?
Was your teacher old or young?
What did you have for lunch?
How did you feel by the end of the school day?

Or:
How old were you when you learned to ride a bike?
Was it your bike or someone else’s?
What color was it?
Did it have training wheels?
Were you scared or excited?
Who taught you to ride?
How did your first bike wreck happen?
Did you get hurt?

These are just two examples of probing for memories that might become stories. Developing memories into stories takes time. Here are some suggestions to develop your basic story line:

Take the time to remember. We are all busy, and reminiscing takes time. It also requires talking to others who might have been there or might remember the incident you are trying to recall.

Make time to talk, call or email and ask them to share their memories with you. Have some specific questions to jog their memory and guide the conversation so that you get what you are seeking for your story.

Write it down. You might recall that the bike was a red Schwinn, for example, then two days later remember that it belonged to your cousin Harold who knocked out your two front teeth. Write it all down; when you begin to develop your story, some things will stay in while others don't make the cut. Save all of it, because there may be more than one story lurking in there.

Knowing What Stories to Tell
All memories might not be great stories to share or to develop for the stage. Ask yourself these questions:

What is important about the story? Why will other people want to hear it? Find the universal. Most people had a wonderful grandparent--what made yours unique? Add some vinegar to the sugar! No one is perfect and that is what defines character. Seek out the basic humanity that audiences can identify with. Did the sweet grandma who always held you on her lap ever drop her teeth in the commode?

So How Does a Memory Become a Story?It probably won’t come to you as a full-fledged story at first. It will be bits and pieces that start fitting together when you have collected enough of them. Keep a notebook of ideas, thoughts, words, memories, and items from the time period of your story.

Give it time. Let it simmer in your brain, and add to it as you remember more details.

Write a timeline of events.

Seek the bones. The bones are the basic outline of the story, the important things that you hang the rest of the story on. Tell the bones to anyone who will listen.

Tell it over and over. Repeated tellings will hone your story as you discover what it is in your tale that appeals to listeners.

Resources for Personal and Family Storytelling
Telling You Own Stories by Donald Davis (August House, 1993, ISBN 0-87483-235-7)

Creating a Family Storytelling Tradition: Awakening the Hidden Storyteller by Robin Moore (ISBN 0874835658).

http://familyeducation.com/article/0,1120,4-10295,00.html
An article by storyteller Odds Bodkin on an ingenious way to start a family storytelling session.

http://www.sussex.ac.uk/history/documents/7._jones_telling_family_stories.pdfResearch paper based on an interview with a woman born in 1913, and her memories of WWII. Includes some thought-provoking information about subjectivity in personal stories.

Begin Again

I am reminded, as this new year begins, of the words of the poet Susan Coolidge:

Every day is a fresh beginning,

Listen, my soul, to the glad refrain,

And spite of old sorrow, and older sinning,

And troubles forecasted, and possible pain,

Take heart with the day, and begin again.

It is a time of endings and beginnings, as we look back at what has passed in the last year and consider what faces us in the new. It is a time when we can say, "Enough of that," and set our sights on a new path. It is also a time when we store away in memory the best the year brought to us, to be brought out and savored when we need a boost.

It is also a time to look at what we resolved to accomplish in the past year--what actually happened and what still waits. Or perhaps the priorites changed and what once seemed important has fallen from the list.

In Germany, I have read, there is a custom of visiting those with whom one has quarreled and all of the past disagreements are mutally forgiven and forgotten. In this country, we need such a healing ceremony after the rifts of the political wars. I could use some of that custom in my own life too, to melt away some hard feelings. Couldn't we all, for that matter?

So it is each new year; we begin with high heads and confidence. Life may beat us down as we trudge through the days, until finally we drop our cares at the holidays and look ahead with renewed hope. Somehow the thought of that cycle is comforting--no matter how bad things may be, there is yet one more year to look forward to, one more chance to get it right, and one more opportunity to celebrate this strange journey we call life.

Take heart, and begin again.

Copyright 2012 Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

The Storyteller

The school visit today was all that I wanted it to be: well planned, well received, a joyful, thoughtful sharing of stories and songs with over 500 children, parents and teachers. Days like this affirm what I do. During those weeks when I have no storytelling work I turn my focus to other things, sometimes researching stories, other times working on my antiques booths or working around home. When a performance comes up after a long hiatus, I often think, "Why do I do this? Would it not be easier to just be like other people and clean house and putter in my gardens instead of going out there to tell stories to strangers?"

Each time, I come home realizing that those who were once unknown are strangers no more. I come home filled with the wonder of the impact of a tale told and a song simply sung. I am humbled by the reaction to the stories, and to me, the storyteller. I realize over and over again the importance of sharing stories, of reminding people of the deep pleasure of listening, of the teachings in the old tales. I come home revitalized and determined to continue this once vaulted profession of storytelling--a profession that over the years lost its command of public interest as different forms of media developed and replaced it in the homes and hearts of people.

And yet...when I say "I am a storyteller," when I explain what a storyteller is (so many do not know and think it is only reading to little children), when I say that the stories I tell live in my mind and not on paper, when I sing the ages-old songs and see the delight and sometimes deep emotion induced in my listeners, I feel once again the power in my blood, in my voice.

I am a storyteller. I tell stories. I follow the ancient path of bards, griots, seanachies, and elders. This is who I am, this is what I do.

Stories and Children

There is a common misconception that storytelling is reading books aloud to little children, or telling stories orally only to children. Storytellers must often explain exactly what it is we do--we tell stories live, in the moment, without reading them, to audiences of any age. We find our stories everywhere and anywhere: a chance comment in a grocery store, a mention in a book or newspaper article, another story, a memory, our life, our family, our community. We find the story, think about it, research it if necessary, consider various points of view for telling, and many other things before the story is ever spoken aloud.

Each teller has a personal style. Mine is a conversational, reminiscent of evenings in front of fire, at kitchen tables or on front porches, swapping and listening and sharing anecdotes as the night descends. I have found this method of presentation comes naturally to me as one of a large family of 13 children--the sharing of stories at our house was a daily occurrence, with everyone afforded the opportunity to chime in. I have also found my style adapts easily to whatever venue at which I perform.

I find my participatory style effective even in school settings. I usually suggest that rather than an all-school large assembly performance, I visit class groups of 60 or less with usually no more than two grades per group. My reasons for these smaller groups are several: first, I find I can make better eye contact with the individual child this way; storytelling relies heavily on that eye-to-eye communication to be most effective and in a theater setting this is not as easily and intimately accomplished. Second, it allows me to dispense with a sound system in most instances, again removing a barrier between the students and the story. While sound is sometimes needed because of acoustics of a particular setting, I think the natural voice is most, well, natural to storytelling. Third, a smaller setting allows me to field comments from the children between stories. Children want to share; they know things and have stories of their own to tell. While there usually is not an opportunity, unfortunately, for deeper conversations about what they have to say, being able to share even a little bit allows me to validate their story, and their storytelling ability. Fourth, we get to know each other. When I leave I feel like I know the children in the group and they feel a similar connection to me. It is important for children to feel acceptance and respect from their elders and small-group storytelling allows mutual respect to develop between teller and listener. And last but just as valuable, I can select stories suited to the developmental level of each grade. A kindergarten student operating at the concrete level of reasoning will not be likely to understand the humor or a tall tale or follow intricate story plots. Fifth grade students may get bored with the repetitive stories that are effective with younger children, for example.

Yesterday was a good case in point. At this particular school, I move from classroom to classroom instead of the children being brought to me. I started with the preschool group and ended the day with the fifth graders. The principal approved ghost stories for the two upper grades but these could not be told to younger groups because of parental requests--not even the very mild and playful tales. With preschool I told stories with puppets, songs with a flannelboard and we had lots of participation with the children playing parts in the stories and songs. Kindergarten and first got a couple puppet stories, a Jack tale and other Appalachian stories along with a song or two. For third grade I continued with Appalachian stories and two traditional folk tales, one told as a rap and the other a Spoonerism (Rindercella) to demonstrate that there are many ways to tell a tale. Since fourth grade studies West Virginia history in our state, I focused on West Virginia historical tales an traditional Appalachian stories, including a few ballads, a coal mining story, the story of my parents' meeting during World War II and a ghost story or two. For the fifth grade I repeated some of the stories told in the fourth grade but added some West Virginia ghost stories and ballads for more mature listeners. I brought puppets for the younger groups and coal mining artifacts and historical documents for the older groups. Woven through each performance was an ongoing conversation that created the transitions between stories and sometimes determined the next story I would tell.

In the course of the day I heard stories from the children. I heard about a haunted tunnel after I told the story of one such tunnel; I heard about a local site with a Native American historical background and a legend to go with it; I heard about bear hunting and about immigrant grandparents, about a creature said to leave green slime in its path, about coal mining and superstitions. I left with the feeling that these children are from families that still tell stories, that share memories and folklore. I do not think this was a unique school; I think that given the opportunity all children have stories they want to share, if only they had a time and place to do so. The time I had with them afforded an opportunity for at least a few of them to tell their tales, and I can only wonder what stories the others would have told if only we'd had many more hours in the day. During the whole day there were no discipline issues; the children remained engaged and interested, group after group.

This day was just one example of what it can be like to tell stories in a school setting; the experience was not new to me as this is what I normally experience with school visits. The bottom line is that children want stories; children listen to a well-told tale and children have stories to tell. Storytelling is needed more than ever as an avenue for children to communicate, learn, imagine and create.