Southern Appalachian Storytellers--Charlotte Ross

McFarland Publishers released my book, Southern Appalachian Storytellers: Interviews with Sixteen Keepers of the Oral Tradition in 2011. Collecting oral histories from those folks took me all over the mountains of the southern highlands, including Boone, North Carolina. That's where the Legend Lady lives. She and her husband oriented their home to ensure a prime view of Grandfather Mountain. The ancient mountain's profile is stunning in every season and a wonder to behold. The first time I consciously saw it, I had to find the likeness; now I see it and know it for what it is--part of my personal landscape--a place marker.

Charlotte, born to an Appalachian family in north Georgia, learned to find her way home using the peaks, ridges and valleys as her guide. Taught the skill by her grandfather, she stores the mountain-scape in an ancestral memory bank that goes clear back to the famous Native American, Nancy Ward.

On my last visit to Charlotte's home, we sat in her cozy den surrounded by objects collected throughout a life-time dedicated to all things Appalachian. Each piece held a precious bit of story within.  The Legend Lady spun stories from them all afternoon in a rich, low voice--a whisper touched by the ancestral memories of general stores, pot-bellied stoves, corn pipes, long-houses and music made from mysterious flutes.

This remarkable storyteller, the repository of several thousand stories collected throughout her lifetime, came to my attention through Dot Jackson, storyteller, and former investigative reporter from Pickens, South Carolina. Friends for decades, Ross, Jackson and their friend Betty Smith, a revered ballad singer and teacher now living in Black Mountain, North Carolina, enjoy a friendship filled with the memories only long-term acquaintance can bring.

You can find Southern Appalachian Storytellers: Interviews with Sixteen Keepers of the Oral Tradition at www.mcfarlandpublishers.com, or Amazon.com.

Heartbreak in a Little Red Truck

I told stories in a small town near here last night, and noticed that while some folks still shoot little jokes out about the election, others fail to respond. It's a "let's get on with life," attitude that I can live with.

Things are beginning to settle down a bit, and it looks as though there is sincere interest on both sides of the field in helping Americans, instead of fighting over us. Florida's votes finally came in and the president won a tidy victory there, avoiding the dreaded re-count of the past; that's a profound relief to this native-born Floridian.

Speaking of living with something, I very much fear I saw death last night and it was more than a ghostly specter. Anticipating directions from my GPS, I turned too soon and had to take an alternate route or turn around. Tooling along on the highway, my destination almost in sight, a white truck blinked its lights at me.

"Oh, great... radar ahead," I thought, and slowed down.  Well, law enforcement was indeed in the vicinity, but it appeared to have just arrived and they weren't trying to slow us down; they wanted us to stop. Just ahead was a dull red truck, nose down in a ditch, its rear end pitched high in the air. I could plainly see it was crushed into the passenger compartment. Something in my heart constricted when I saw it: someone's day had altered critically in only a moment's time.

As we waited, two cars drew up, doors slammed and several people rushed towards the crash. "Oh, no!" cried one. Another, her voice sucking inward on the words, said, "Oh, my God--no!" Panicked, they ran towards the truck, heedless of those trying to stop them. We watched from our cars, knowing heartbreak lay just ahead. I have no idea what happened or if the occupants lived or died, but pain was there and yes, the potential for death. It rides with us every time we enter our cars and take to the road, no matter how defensively we may attempt to drive.

Some time ago, I drove home in snow, making it up my hill with no problem. I couldn't, however, maintain a steady speed to access my sloping driveway and slid backwards, narrowly missing the ravine. There being two access points, I tried the other one. There was no way at all to get up enough speed to make that one, with the result that I slid sideways down the hill. Landing on a Confederate Rose and the light pole I came to a stop, but couldn't get out. I stayed there, trapped and cold, but unharmed until help arrived. I can only imagine what could have happened had I really lost control, missed the pole and the bush and careered down into a big tree at a greater rate of speed. Blessings come in interesting ways.

Take care out there, wherever you are. We've got to watch after one another--life, each moment of it, is precious to us all.

It's a great day for America--hooray for President Obama!

November 6--such a day it was. My candidate for president won and I couldn't be happier. One dark spot or blemish is Florida, my home state. I worry that what was once a forward-looking place has become a drudge filled with trickery and misdeeds in the world of politics. I was there when George Bush slid into office, and remember the sickened feeling in my belly; its one of the reasons I finally left the place of my birth and have been reluctant to return.  There is no excuse of any kind for our voting conditions to be anything but as honest, professional and mechanically up-to-date as possible.  This is not the America of the thirties, folks--it's 2012!

 I voted early this year, enjoying the camaraderie of my fellow Americans in the basement of our old courthouse. The line was long, but it was busy and felt almost like a party. In a way it was a party--a joyous occasion in which we had the opportunity to have our say.  Several children were there with their parents, eagerly asking questions about the process, while some voters were quiet and pensive. Some chatted all the way to the voting box, but once in, their voices still in concentration.  I had the feeling I was in a nest of Republicans, but I didn't care--we were there to exercise our rights as citizens. I believe the best man won, but many others were downcast this morning.   I feel for them because I know they believe their path to be the right one. I don't know that mine is right, but I believe it is best.

I would have supported Romney had he won, but I'm glad he didn't.  No matter what he said or did, or perhaps because of what he said and did...I couldn't identify with him. There was a strong feeling that he was just a party animal, and some things he said didn't seem as though they belonged in his mouth. I couldn't understand why the man who got healthcare reform passed in Massachusetts refused it for the rest of us...and why some folks couldn't see that corporations like his are so far removed from ordinary people (and no, corporations are not a person--they are composed of many, many people who usually have no idea what they own, and are directed by those who do) that we are faceless beings--the masses of humanity. How else could the atrocities of the big-business Bush administration have occurred?

The next four years won't be a picnic I'm sure. We need a saint with wisdom and a big stick to meld the drastic differences of opinion that exist among us. I don't know that President Obama is a saint, but I believe in him and support him all the way. He's started too many good things to stop them mid-stream. Join me now, and let's move forward to make our America the place of unity and good will.

Ideas, Influence and Choices

A couple of years ago, I noticed a phenomenon at our local library: three dogwood trees stood near a lamp post in varying shades of leaf color--this after most had long-since lost their leaves.

It was November when I walked out of the building shivering in the late afternoon chill. For some reason, I had failed to notice those three trees but this time, I saw a flash of white. What?  Sure enough, the dogwood tree nearest the lamp post had new green leaves and white blossoms clustered near red berries! When asked, the librarian told me staff believed the new LED light bulbs in the lamp posts were responsible for the phenomenon.

Last year, those three trees conformed to the others in the area--did they change the light bulbs?, but I cannot forget the year that one tree bloomed out of season.  Sometimes we do that--something will happen that causes us to respond uncharacteristically, causing a blind reaction. It's my I hope that we are aware of the influences around us and take great care before allowing such change without thought.

As with chemical and industrial discoveries, so has the realm of the mind been uncovered. That leaves us incredibly vulnerable. Perhaps it's time to cut the TV/Movie/Internet/Tablet/Phone habit and begin to think on our own again.  What are your triggers? What do you do, what do I do, that influences my ability to make choices for myself? Think about it.

We are living a story: Obama/Biden, Romney/Ryan

I've been thinking a lot about the election lately...how can I not when I'm confronted with it on all sides. This is the time of year I almost completely withdraw to print media, refusing to allow all my senses to be manipulated, but election time also provokes me to thought outside my usual boundaries.  In that light, I was listening to commentators on NPR today and realized we are again riding a swinging pendulum. When President Obama ran, he was the first 'black' man to run; Romney is the first Mormon to run for president. How we do love labels, but this goes beyond mere labeling--Americans are searching for something and using elections as a tool to find whatever it is but there seems to be an element of hysteria this time around.

My question is this: must we vote on someone's personal issues? Aren't there bigger things out there than someone's color, religion, preference for alcohol or non, abortion or no--these things are huge triggers than can move a voter's finger in a heartbeat, but how about poverty; hunger and pain in a country held in a corporate death-grip?  We are so vulnerable to those triggers that we will overlook the warts on our noses once the trigger is pressed. Maleable, self-centered, fear-filled minds are not given to rational thought.

The story goes like this: we elect a president who is different and we are absolutely positive will solve all our social and international problems. Turns out the problem takes longer than anticipated and is extremely complex, so let's push that pendulum as far as possible the other direction to see what happens--get someone else who will reverse everything, take four years to do it and figure out it didn't work. Somewhere, we may decide to literally think for ourselves and make rational decisions without our strings being pulled.

Follow Me

I just signed up for the Following gadget which you'll see near my photo on the right.  It's my hope that you will join me so that we can have a conversation about all the interesting things in our world and beyond.

 Having just completed Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed, this topic is on my mind. I write stories, tell them, too, but folks can rummage around in the brain matter and come up with some pretty incredible material.  Of late, I've been writing darker stories. I don't know if has anything to do with the last four years of recession or not, but I do know I've been influenced by this period of time, much like rings on a tree.  We cannot live untouched by what happens around us.

By the way, since the world loves stories, check out the Jonesborough Storytellers Guild website.  We are also on Facebook.

Rich Man, Poor Man--a folktale for today

So what is America's story today?  We are now a country of dark contrast that sounds more and more feudal: an unrestricted and petted upper class, and a pacified lower class consisting of former middle class members with fond memories of a better past.  We somehow find it difficult to require our wealthy elite to share the wealth, still thinking our lottery ticket will come through some day.

A recent rumor resonnated with me, since I've been feeling this way for some time:  tax the rich, drop health insurance for all public officials; discontinue pensions for elected officials, and stop paying the student loans of politicians, their families and friends.  Those in high position would be restricted from taking employment for 5 years after leaving office in fields related to their recent employment by the government. Nice, yes?

I'm thinking of a story about a rich man and his poor neighbor. There are loads of these folktales all over the world since disparity is an age-old problem. In this version that I tell, the two lived side by side and shared all that they had until famine struck.  The rich man fired his shepherd who just happened to be the neighbor in question, caused a great wall to be built around his property and brought his family and herds into the compound to ride it out in safety.

Finding no work, the poor shepherd and his wife prepared their last meal, but they had no salt for the little pone of bread they would eat.

"Go next door and beg a pinch of salt." said the wife, so the man went but the door was closed to him.  Starving and hurt by rejection, he sat down and leaned against the wall.  Smells wafted from the window over his head and he realized it was food cooking. He sat there until the family's meal was done and went home for his wife.  They came back and sat together under the window while the rich man sat at table, and savored the smells of real food.

The next day, the shepherd was looking for work at the market and saw his former friend. He told him what had happened but the rich man was angry. "You stole from me!" and hauled him to court.

The judge, who just happened to be appointed to office by the rich man, adjudged the poor man guilty of theft and fined him one donkey.

A donkey! He who could not afford a pinch of salt had to find a donkey and give it to the rich man. Desperate, he headed home to his wife, passing the village storyteller, who was leading a donkey, on the way.  "Why are you so downcast?" she said.

He told her the awful story and she gave him the donkey and some food.  She told him to care for the animal, and take it to court the next day. He had to be silent and do exactly what she required of him.

He and his wife loved the little donkey and dreaded parting with, but he took it to court and prepared to give it up, or whatever the storyteller asked him to do.

She approached the judge and told him their version of the story. The rich man looked uncomfortable and refused to look at the shepherd.

Strike that donkey with your staff," she told the shepherd.  He never struck his animals--he couldn't hurt the little animal, but he had promised, so he hit the donkey. The donkey was so surprised it brayed and jumped and bucked and it took all he could do to get it to calm down.

"Now," said the storyteller, "you have payment for the smell of your food. Take it and leave this man be."

Speechless, the judge and the rich man had little recourse. Besides, the rich man saw the folly of his ways and felt foolish.  The storyteller told the man to care for the donkey and keep it with him always and so he did. The rich man caused the walls to be torn away from his home and rehired the shepherd to watch his flocks and herds.  Best of all, they both shared what they had with one another and others and all was well.

Learn from the wise among us and share that which is given.

Photo by Becky Campbell