Good evening, and thank you all for coming out tonight to the Monroe County Public Library's presentation
of Wintertelling, funded by the Friends of the Library. I'd like at this point to ask everybody to turn
their cell phones to silent or off, if you would please, and remind you that we will have refreshments
in the atrium after the performances. And without further ado, I'd like to introduce you to Patty Callison
from the Bloomington Storytellers Guild.
Well, welcome everybody to this our annual gathering of stories. It was just saying goodbye, wasn't it?
We're very pleased to have a lovely turnout tonight to listen to a variety of stories. Bloomington
Storytellers Guild has been telling stories in the community since the mid-70s. And so we're, you know,
we ourselves love stories and we love to share them with you all. The stories of lives past,
folk tales, legends based on real people, original stories, and just the stories of our lives in general.
So we welcome you and hope that you enjoy this evening of Wintertelling. Good evening.
My name is Lisa Ciampelli, and I'm a member of the Bloomington Storytellers Guild. And the story that
I have to share this evening is a folktale from the American Southwest about a farmer, which may make
the story more suited to a spring telling than a winter telling. But the story also considers the types
of strife or trials that we may be willing to or feel capable of enduring at any time during the year.
But what got me thinking about this story and wanting to tell it tonight was how fortunate I have felt
recently to have very good people in my life, my colleagues, my friends and neighbors, and how having
those people in my life diminishes any trials that I might face. For you see, there was once a farmer
named Isidro who owned a small plot of land in New Mexico.
He made his living growing beans and chilies. And every spring, he plowed his fields and prepared the
ground for planting his precious seeds, which needed to be planted by May 15th. He was very devoted
to his farming, and he was very devoted to God. His neighbors, in fact, often observed him praying while plowing.
And later in his life, many people felt that the angels must be helping him with his farm work so that
he could attend church even during the week and not fall behind in his chores. His friends and his neighbors
all felt that he was such a good man, so kind and generous, so devout, that he was destined to become
a saint. And in fact, he did. After his death, May 15th was declared
the feast day of San Isidro, the patron saint of farmers. There was one year that the spring rains did
not come and Isidro's ground grew especially dry and thirsty and he worried that he would not have time,
he would not be able to plant his seeds in the ground and he would have no crop for the year.
When May 15th dawned again, bright and sunny, a blistering hot sun blazing across the sky, he felt that
he could not wait any longer. He had to do whatever he could do to get those seeds into the ground so
that he would have a crop for the year. So even though it was a Sunday, a day of rest and devotion,
he hitched up his ox to the plow and set out for the fields.
He'd been working in the fields for about an hour when he stopped to take a cool drink of water and
an angel appeared to him. Isidro, what are you doing? Why are you working on this Sunday? God is very
displeased to see you laboring on what should be a day of rest and devotion. You must stop your labors.
Isidro paused and he said,
Well, I am very pleased to know that God pays attention to what I do. But I must get my seeds in the
ground today. So I ask that God understand why I must work this Sunday. And please, let me continue
with my plowing.
Angel said, oh, I'm sorry, but God does not understand. If you do not cease your labors, then God will
send a wind or a rainstorm, possibly, to destroy your crops. And then what will you do? I will just
have to deal with it if that occurs, said Isidro. All I know is that I must continue working in order
to get my seeds into the ground, or I will not have any crops this year. Now please, leave me be and
let me go on with my plowing.
And so the angel disappeared, and Isidro continued. And he worked for about another hour when a second
angel appeared to him and said again to Isidro, Isidro, God is very displeased to see that you are continuing
to work on this Sunday. This is a day of rest. Why are you continuing to disobey God if you
Do not put down your plow and rest. There will be consequences." Isidro said, I'm sorry, I am not able
to put down my plow today. I must do what I can to get my seeds into the ground. Please, please ask
God to try and understand. But the angel said, God does not understand Isidro. If you
are not able to cease your labors, then a lightning bolt will strike the ground and fire will destroy
your crops. Enesidro said, there is nothing that I can do about that. All I know is what I can do today
to try to get these seeds into the ground so that I have crops for the year. Please ask God to understand
why I must continue with my plowing. So the angel left.
And Isidro continued plowing his fields. At midday, when the sun was directly overhead, a third angel
appeared to Isidro. And the third angel said to him, Isidro, twice now, God has asked you to cease your
labors and honor this Sunday as a day of devotion, and twice you have refused him. You must cease.
I am here to give you a third and final chance, or there will indeed be consequences. I know, said Isidro,
I know God will send a plague of locusts to destroy my crops." And the angel said, no, it will be worse
than that. Worse than a plague of locusts? Well, what could be worse than a plague of locusts? And the
angel said,
God will send you a very bad neighbor." And Isidro pulled up the ox and stopped short. Did you say a
very bad neighbor? Yes, said the angel. God will send you an especially bad neighbor to live on the
farm right next to you unless you cease your work right now. I see, said Isidro.
Of course, God is always right, and I should not be laboring on this Sunday. For I could deal
with rainstorms, foul weather of any kind. I could deal with fire, destroying my crops. I could even
handle a plague of locusts. But a bad neighbor? Not even a saint can deal with a bad neighbor.
Nicely done, Lisa, getting us started off with a great folk tale well told. Hello, my name's Stephanie
Holman, and I am so excited to be a part of Wintertelling once again. Always glad to cozy in and listen
to stories, my favorite thing. But I've had a story tapping on my shoulder for many a year now, and
I want to share it with you tonight.
Perhaps you've heard the legend of Diana of the Dunes. Raise your hand if you've heard a variation of
the legend of Diana of the Dunes. Ah, Hoosiers, show thyselves. There you are. Well, there are probably
as many variations of this legend as there are hands in the air, because it is a legend. And one thing
I know is that legends often are stories that hide deeper truths and often more interesting facts.
And so I share with you tonight the story of Diana, who was dubbed Diana of the Dunes back in 1916 by
a newspaper reporter who had heard of her penchant for dashing into the waves of the Lake Michigan nude
and then running pell-mell to dry off up and down the shores.
And so the Diana of the Dunes was created. But I know this for sure, that her name was really Alice.
And I want to tell you about Alice Mabel Gray. She was an environmentalist, a feminist, a sturdy, strong
woman who had the gumption to become a pioneer
and live on the dunes, the last frontier in Indiana during that time period, on her own in a shack all
year round for 10 years. She was quite a gal. And I've learned a lot about her and I want to tell you
how she got to be on those dunes. Alice Mabel Gray was born in 1881, one of three children born to a
well-to-do physician.
And she wanted for nothing. Her life in Chicago was ideal. And she got to go to the University of Chicago
where she graduated in 1903, Phi Beta Kappa, with honors in Latin, mathematics, grammar. She was extremely
well accomplished. And then she began her workaday world in the big city. And she was always
always discontented with the way cities were run. She loathed living in the cities. She didn't understand
why they wouldn't let her go out onto the lake shore and bathe nude whenever she wanted to right there
on the shores of Chicago. And so it wasn't until she was 34 years old that she headed out. It was October
of 1915 when she boarded the South Shore Rail.
There, in her electric interurban car, she followed the shoreline and in those days she saw nothing
but wafting, moving, living sand dunes out either side of her car. Of course, there was that time she
had to avert her eyes as she passed by the U.S. Steel Mill there in Gary, the town that it bore. But
then she passed further east and disembarked at the Miller Station.
And there she found exactly what she'd been looking for. It was very uninhabited. There were a few buildings
and people, but Highway 12 wasn't there yet. So all of the dunes along the shoreline there were inaccessible
by car. And so she walked off that south shore rail train out towards the lake and turned left and headed
away from Miller just a little ways looking for her shack where she would squat.
where she would claim and become a recluse and the hermit she wanted to be. She told people who asked,
she'd say, I just want to live my own life, a free life. Her favorite poem was by Byron, Solitude, and
that's what she sought. And the few people who got to meet her when she first arrived described her
as quiet but not unfriendly.
They described her as attractive, but not necessarily physically. It was her self-assurance,
her self-confidence that they fell in love with. And that character of hers is what made her an icon
that we're still talking about 100 years later. But it also made her a target. Because she hadn't even
been living on the dunes for a year when in July of 1916,
The Chicago Examiner sent a reporter to find out more about this nudist who was causing such a sensation
on the shores. Well, he sought her out, and he found her at her cabin, a little shack that she'd claimed.
And he got an interview with her, and she told of when she'd first arrived back in October. She said
that she arrived bearing only a spoon, a knife,
Two guns, a blanket, and a gunny sack. And when she first arrived, she had nowhere to stay, so the first
four nights she was there under the stars. But then she found an abandoned rail car and hung out there
for a while until she found this shack that she claimed. And there she made furniture out of driftwood,
and so she dubbed her shack the Driftwood. And there she began her life of solitude. How did she eat?
She gathered berries and other food from the dunes. She fished. And when she needed to, she headed to
Chesterton for supplies such as salt and bread. And of course, her every two-week visit to the public
library, where she filled that gunny sack with books and magazines. And she loved her life, she said.
And yes, she did bathe.
Twice daily nude in the water. Lots of people did hear, why aren't you writing about them? Yes, she
did run pell-mell down the shore afterward. That's how she dried off. Yes, she did cut her hair by her
shadow that cast on the sand because she didn't have a mirror. But what she really wanted to talk about
with that reporter were the living dunes. The dunes that she had come to help save. There was a movement
afoot to make a national park there and she wanted to help.
And as a result of the tiny little bit that he included in his article, she would get to do that. But
that day when he left and he printed his story in July of 1916, not a week later there were 25 different
variations in other newspapers and the variations continue to this day about this Diana of the Dunes
as he dubbed her, although physically she was anything but a goddess. But there she was
on the shore and so as a result of this article some who were trying to create the National Park heard
of her and her love of the dunes and thought maybe they could use this story to help get more advertisement
and so they invited her to come speak and she was good. She was there on the stage at the Art Institute
of Chicago and she had her own way of sharing the science.
She talked about the significance of the dunes. She told the people how Lake Michigan is the parent,
and Chicago is one of its children, and the dunes, another child. And any good parent will take care
of their children, and any good child will take care of their parent. And if we were to take wrongly
care of the dunes, it would be sacrilegious, a sin. And people heard this in a different way than they
heard the science.
And so she was often asked to speak in Chicago and other places. But there was nothing she liked better
than to get back to her shack on the shore. And there she lived a very happy, mostly single life there
on the shores alone for seven years. Let's think about that for a moment. Seven Lake Michigan winters
in an uninsulated shack, feeding herself
a pioneer, a truly amazing woman. And she would have continued to be happy, except trouble came her
way, and his name was Paul Wilson. Oh, she fell hard for Paul Wilson, but nobody else really knew where
he came from. We know now that he was a ne'er-do-well for Michigan City. He'd had many run-ins with
the law and had been in jail for burglary,
But he was a big, strong, handsome man. And she just sort of forgave the fact that he had a violent
temper. But trouble came when Paul Wilson was invited into her life, into her shack, and took up residence
at the Driftwood with her. No longer was it a hermitage. Now it was a love nest. And so the reporters
were back. They'd heard there was a couple now. And then the headline read, Caveman Wins Diana of the Dooms.
But the trouble came, he was handy and he was good to have around. I mean he was a fisherman too and
he built the driftwood furniture as well and they would sell it to the summer folk and they lived this
life together for a little while until the trouble came in the form of a murdered man who had been found
buried in a shallow grave not far from the shack they shared.
And so Paul was taken in for questioning, as was Alice, but they were both cleared of the murder. But
of course, their home had been altered. So they left the Driftwood and moved east to Ogden Dunes and
claimed another shack, which they dubbed Wren's Nest. But trouble followed them there as well. At Wren's
Nest, the trouble came in the form of a local sheriff's deputy named Eugene Frank.
Eugene Frank already had it in for Paul Wilson and his reputation that preceded him. And Eugene Frank
took his business very seriously of watching over the summer cottages during the winter months. And
he soon started spreading a rumor about how Alice and Paul were stealing from the cabins that he was
in charge of. Well, they, knowing this was a lie, went to the deputy and confronted him
and some sort of horrible scuffle ensued whereby the deputy pistol-whipped Alice, hit her on the head
with his gun, fractured her skull. Somehow or other, Paul Wilson ended up with a gunshot to the foot.
And as they were whisked away to Mercy Hospital in Gary, the deputy was charged with his assault, but
not convicted. And while they were recuperating in the hospital in Gary,
Looters ransacked Wren's Nest and stole all of their belongings, including a couple of important manuscripts
that Alice had been working on about the dunes. But they did recover, and they came back to live again
for two more years there at Wren's Nest. But things were changing for the squatters along the shorelines.
Highway 12 was there now.
And access by automobile meant property values were going up and resentment was going up too. Resentment
for those who were squatting on property that was belonging to others. But it was Winter and Paul that
would do Alice in. He was very violent with her and yet she stayed on. And in February 9th of 1925,
he went running for a doctor
And he told the doctor it was bad, that he'd wanted to come sooner, but Alice wouldn't let him. But
now she was unconscious, and that they better hurry, but it was too late. By the time Paul and the doctor
got back to Wren's Nest, Alice died in Paul's arms. She died of uremic poisoning. Ironically, the same
arms that she died in were the ones that had caused the wounds that had resulted in the poisoning.
And so Alice's life came to a tragic, horrific end. And to add insult to injury, she wasn't even buried
the way she wanted to be. She had wanted her ashes to be sprinkled out on Mount Tom, there at the dunes,
one of the highest dunes. But her brother and sister, who she hadn't spoken to in a decade, the whole
decade that she'd lived on the dunes, they'd never, never had any contact. They were in charge of her
funeral, and they placed her at Oak Hill Cemetery in Gary.
right there in the middle of the city with that still mill looking over her. And there she is to this
day. But I would beg you to not remember the tragic ending, to go back and revisit her amazing youth
and the middle of the story where she decides to leave everything and pursue this pioneer life. And
when you think of Alice, you'll think about many people
like her, who helped to establish that national park here in our state of Indiana, there along the dunes.
It was established in 1917 with help of people like her. And maybe you've been to the dunes. I hope
my story will make you want to go again. And when you travel down Highway 12 and you see those brown
signs pointing out different points of interest to the State Park and the National Park, I hope because
of this story here tonight at Wintertelling, you
like me will think of Alice and remember her name was Alice. Thank you very much. Thank you, Stephanie.
I am Ken Ogus, storyteller from Indianapolis. And tonight, I'm going to share with you a story that
gives a wink to Hiroko Fujita, traditional storyteller of Japan, and a nod to the art of Rakugo storytelling.
Nearly 70 years ago, a great artist left the big city of Tokyo to the safety of the countryside. There
was a great war going on. And he came to the Fukushima Prefecture to find a village where he could spend
time. He found a place he could rent and set up his gallery and show people his wonderful sculptures.
And oh, the villagers, they came. They came into his house and they looked at all of the things that
he had carved, why there were birds, there were fish, there were large animals, and they all were uncannily
lifelike. It seemed as if they could just hop off their pedestals and breathe air and run away. One
of these days, a little girl,
who decided to come visit and see for herself what this great artist was like, came in with the other
villagers and looked at all of the sculptures. Now the artist lectured people, trying to teach them
about aesthetics and high art. Now, can you see how I've taken this fish and I've carved the fine scales?
Can you see that? Can you see the gills moving?
And can you see the horse's mane flying in the wind? And all the villagers nodded. And they were very
polite and listened very carefully. The little girl walked up to the artist and, what is it,
little one? What do you want? I have looked around your studio and I do not see a statue of a mouse.
Well, I don't have a mouse.
That's right. Well, maybe I should carve one now that I'm here in your village. Tell you what, I will
carve you the finest mouse. It will look just as if it were alive. What is it now, little one? I can
carve too, and I like to do art. I'll make a statue as well. Oh, you would make a statue of a mouse
as well? Shall we have a competition? Ah.
I look at all the villagers, who could be a judge for us today? The villagers all looked down. No one
wanted that responsibility. Oh, what is it now, young one? Well, if we're making statues of mice, maybe
we should have a cat as a judge. Oh, good idea. So you come back three days and we'll let the cat be
the judge.
Three days, that artist worked. He took his finest, sharpest knives and the finest grained wood and
carved and carved until he could see, ah, yes, the little beady eyes of the mouse and fine hairs. Even
the little tail curled around the body. It was ready. The little girl worked on hers, too, and she brought
her mouse statue on that third day. And she had an ordinary cloth over hers. Oh, the great artist said,
no, everybody observe. And he took off a fine silk cover off of his statue. And the people looked, oh,
why the ears were so thin and fine. Why you could see the sunlight through them. He set the mouse down
on the floor and waited.
The little girl came up and she took her ordinary cloth off her statue and she placed it down. And the
artist took a look and he said, oh my, oh my, it's about the right size for a mouse and I don't know
what you've made it out of, but I see a little twig for a tail. Very clever. I give you high marks for
being resourceful. Now we need the judge.
A farmer brought in a cat, an old farm cat. Set it down in the middle of the floor between the two statues.
The cat took one look at the little carved statue. Looked at the one the little girl had made. Its eyes
got big and it grabbed the statue up in its mouth and went running outside with it. Boom!
Villagers weren't sure what to do. No one said a word. Oh, the judge has decided, I guess.
You have one, young one. Yes, I have. But I don't know. How did you do it? How did you convince the
cat that mouse was alive? Well, I know some things about art, but I know a lot about cats.
So, oh, great artist, I made my statue out of smoked dried fish. Oh, you are very wise for your age.
Well, as a reward, you may come to my studio any time and I will tell you so much about art. Oh,
thank you. I will come to your studio and visit with you. And while I'm here,
I will teach you about cats. Want it up in front? No, I'll just sit on it. I'm over here, that's over there.
My name's Ginny Ritchie. I've been thinking. I've been thinking that sometimes as we get a little older,
we get a little grumpy. Some of us get a little feisty, and some of us get a little stubborn. I have
a story about that. You're not surprised, are you?
Jimmy and Johnny lived in one of those long, stretched out West Virginia places in between two tall
hillsides where there's just enough room for the creek and the house and the road and the railroad.
Johnny worked for the railroad. That is, he worked for the railroad until he got too old to work and
he went home with a little pension and that suited him just.
I don't mean he never went back to the station. Oh no, every morning he got up and went back to the
station just to see if the trains came in on time and also to watch everybody else work. Because there's
nothing more fun than watching other people work when you yourself don't have to. When sometimes he'd
go down to the store and he'd laugh and joke and he'd go to pick one thing up, he'd be there all day.
But if the weather was bad, he didn't have to go out.
He'd just sit in his rocking chair and doze. After a while, Anna Mae observed that while he was retired,
that she was not. In fact, she had just as much work to do as she ever had.
There was all the sweeping and the mopping and the cooking and the cleaning and the laundry and the
mending and the ironing and it just never seemed to stop. And it began, it began to strike her as unfair.
And this all came to a head one night when she served the last of a pot of beans.
This pot of beans had begun weeks before as a Sunday ham. And the Sunday ham had been served in one
way or another until there was nothing left of it but a bone. And the bone in a sack of beans had been
put on to soak overnight and then to simmer all the next day. And then they began to have a bowl of
beans for supper every night. And every night after they'd
had their bowl, Anna May would put the pot back on the cold part of the stove. And then the next night,
she would pull it up to the hot part of the stove and get it warm and cook it again. And oh, those beans,
that reduction of beans, that concentration of beans, they got rich and creamy. And by the time they
got to the bottom of that pot, they were delicious.
the inside of the pot. It was covered with rock hard baked on bean crust. And as Anna Mae finished her
beans, she thought of all the time it was gonna take her to get that pot clean. And just at that moment,
Johnny pushed his chair back and got ready to go to bed.
You wait a minute, she said. Wait a minute. She said, tonight, I want you to help me. I want you to
clean that pot, and I'll do everything else, and we'll go to bed together. Johnny looked at Anna Mae
as if she had fallen from the moon. It's only fair, she said. You've eaten plenty from that pot. You
can clean it now.
Honey, if you wait for me to clean that pot, it'll look just the same in the morning as it does right now."
And Johnny went off to bed. Well, it will look the same in the morning as it does right now, said Anna
Mae, because I am not going to wash that pot. And she went off to bed, and she slept pretty well.
But in the morning, when she woke up, she was lying there thinking the way you do, you know, about all
the chores she had to do that day, and she thought about supper, and she thought she'd put some potatoes
on for supper. Oh. The pot. Well, he could get up and wash the pot, couldn't he?
And she elbowed Johnny awake and informed him of what plans she had for him. And he responded with the
information for her that he did not do parts. And the conversation got sort of heated. And finally,
Johnny said, well, he said, I'm not going to get out of this bed until you go wash the pot.
And she said, I can outlast you. She said, I won't get out of the bed either.
I won't get out of the bed until you wash the pot. And what's more, I won't even say another word until
you wash the pot. You think you can outlast me, said Johnny. Honey, he said, I'm not going to move and
I'm not going to speak. But if I do move or speak before you do, I will get up and wash the pot. But
when you move and when you start talking, honey, you can just get up and do what you're supposed to do.
And she crushed her arms and she shut her mouth. And there they lay. The morning stretched on. And after
a while, the next door neighbor, the one that always keeps an eye on things, she noticed that Johnny
had not gone down to the station. And it was a fine day.
And she noticed that Annemay hadn't put her laundry out and it was a washing day. And she knew something
was wrong. And she better go find out what it was. So she ran next door and she called in the door,
Annemay, are you in there? Johnny, is everything all right?
be some terrible trouble in there. And she called her kids and sent them up and down the valley to get
everybody collected, because she didn't want to go in the house by herself. And so when there was a
good crowd there, all discussing and anticipating and speculating, well, a group of them went up to
the door. And they went in the front room. My goodness.
Last night's dirty dishes were still on the table. This was serious. The fire had gone out in the stove
and there was that pot. They set the children outside so that they wouldn't be disturbed by whatever
they found. And then bravely they went into the back room.
them by the shoulder and shook them. Oh, speak to me. Speak to me, anime. Johnny, Johnny, can't you
move? Well, you know they must hear us. Look at their eyes rolling back and forth. I believe they've
been poisoned. Oh, yeah. And it's paralyzed them. Well, said one of the men, if he's paralyzed and he
isn't going to get out of bed no more, you know what?
There's a mighty fine watch he's got over here. Anime thought, oh, he'll say something now. But Johnny
just pressed his lips together and he didn't say a word. And just about that time, one of the ladies,
she was taking Anime's Sunday hat down. Now this is a sweet little thing, isn't it? You know, it never
did fit too well on her curls, but look how nice it looks on me.
Oh, she's going to move now. But Anna Mae just clenched her fists tight and she just lay there. About
that time, the late comers were still straggling up and everybody heard Brother Edward coming. You could
always hear Brother Edward coming because he mumbled to himself. Unfortunately,
He was hard of hearing, and so in order to hear what he was mumbling to himself, he actually spoke in
quite a loud voice. He came up saying, oh, sad affliction, what a sad affliction has fallen upon this
house. You also could tell he was coming because of a certain whiff that preceded him. Brother Edward
believed that if you bathed or washed, you were likely to get pneumonia.
So he avoided those things and he had been known to clear a room as much quicker than a fox could clear
a chicken coop. He came in and he went straight to the bedside and he looked at Anna Mae and he looked
at Johnny and he said, do not be afraid, I'm going to stay with you.
I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to be here by your side day and night. And he leaned over so that
his fetid breath wafted across their faces. And he said, I will pray over you until the devil that is
in you is gone. He's gone, said anime. He's sitting straight up. And Johnny sat up at the exact same
time and said, he's gone.
This gave Brother Edward an entirely undeserved reputation for healing. There was a great deal of curiosity
and a great deal of questions, and Annemay and Johnny didn't want to answer any of those questions.
They just wanted everybody to leave. And it took quite a while to get them all out of the house.
But finally, finally, finally the door closed. There was Annemay.
There was Johnny, and there was the pot. Now they had both moved at exactly the same time. They had
both spoken at exactly the same time. So who was going to wash the pot? Hmm? Hmm? Well, they both did.
turned and turned about they scrubbed and scoured that pot clean and I would just like to think that
after that there were far fewer occasions where somebody was growing
My name's David Matlack. I'm a storyteller, educator, and veterinarian. And I'm the son of an Irish
woman. My mother is what they call the Black Irish. She had black hair, very dark eyes. And every summer
we used to have, I grew up in Richmond, Indiana, every summer we had to go to the coast. Just as soon
as she was done teaching, we would go to the seashore. And I think I know why.
Once, there was a man that lived on a tiny spit of land that jutted out into the sea. Now the eastern
shore, steep craggy cliffs that dropped down to rocky coves below. The western shore, smooth crescent
beach where men of the village kept their boats, fishermen all. The northern point of land jutted out
in the sea where the sound and the sea met and the water was boiling and roiling there. He never went
there. But every evening after fishing, he would go.
to those cliffs to the east, and sit with the sun setting to his back, staring out over the sound. He
would watch the moon rise, the stars fall, and he would dream his dreams. Now in Ireland they say the
east is the past, the west is the future. But this man, he somehow sensed that perhaps his future lay
in the past.
And so he would come here every night and dream his dreams. One evening, it was late in spring, the
rock still holding the warmth of the day's sun, but yet a chill rising off the smooth sound. A full
moon was rising. He watched as 13 ripples pierced that smooth surface of the sound. Those 13 ripples
converged on the rocky cove below. And he watched in amazement.
as thirteen seals slipped out of the water, stood upright, and slipped out of their skins, revealing
beautiful human beings. They were selkies, half-seals, half-human beings. And they joined hands, and
with uplifted tongues they sang an ulu-lein to the silvery moonlight.
Then they danced about the beach, and two by two they went off to the rocks to couple. Save one young
maiden seal. She busied herself, combing her long black hair, fancied her reflection in the moonlight
in the tide pools. Well, the man, silently, ever so silently, he snuck down the steep trail of those
cliffs, hid behind a large rock.
Just before dawn's first light, the others came back, slipped back into their skins and into the sound.
Save that one young maiden seal. She could not find her skin. She was frantic, looking to and fro, and
that man stepped out from behind a rock, holding up her seal skin. Her eyes met his, pleading.
Then her eyes, her head dropped. He turned around.
back up that steep trail with her following. For they both knew the legend of the selkie. Whatever mortal
human being possesses the skin of a selkie, then he too possesses the destiny of that selkie. And he
took her to his cottage, to his hut, and they made a life together. His dreams had come true.
It seemed she was a good and loving wife. And in time, she bore him seven children. It seemed she was
a good and loving wife and mother. Now, on some days, she would take those children into the village,
into the market there. And the people would see their dark hair, their dark eyes. And they would overhear
her talking to them in a strange tongue. And they knew she was a selkie. But it seemed she was a good
and loving wife and mother.
But now it was she that would go to those cliffs to the east every night, staring out over the sound,
watching the moon rise, the stars fall, dreaming her dreams. And when she would come back, he would
kiss her on the cheek. And he would not know if the saltiness he tasted there was from the salty sea
mists or bitter tears. And he never asked.
Now one day, it had been a late winter, but it was the first truly warm day of spring. The children
were up on the roof of that cottage, that hut, playing. It was half sod, half thatching. The oldest
son, he picked up a piece of that sod, and he saw an object most strange. And he trotted into the cottage,
holding it up. Mother, what is this?
When she saw that old, dried seal hide, she let out a shriek of joy so loud that far out at sea, the
fisherman heard it. There was something about it. It sent a chill up his spine. He knew he had to get
home. He pulled up his nets. He turned his skiff towards home, began rowing with all his strength. In
the back of the cottage,
the Selkie woman. She gathered her seven children around. She gave them supper, sent them to bed early,
kissed each one on the cheek, telling them, if ever you find me gone, know that I will love you for
always. Back out at sea, that man, he could see the beach. He was putting all his weight into those
oars as he approached the surf. He saw a seal head bobbing there. Their eyes met, her soft
Big eyes blinking, she slipped under the water and was gone. At last, he was on the beach. He ran up
to his cottage to find his children sleeping. And his wife was gone. And gone for good, he knew. For
he knew that neither chains of love nor chains of steel can keep a selkie from the sea.
Thank you. Thank you. Many versions of that. The closing sentence, chains of love nor chains of steel
can keep a selfie from the sea, is from a beautiful film, The Secret of Roniniche, which the backdrop
is about life on a
on an Irish island, but the backdrop is that story about the Selkie. And I haven't checked, but I bet
the library has it here. And it does on video. Awesome. Thank you. Yeah, it's a beautiful film. And
thanks to Friends Library. Thanks to the library. Hi.
I'm Carol Holding. I can still remember the day that dad brought that kitten home. He let us girls have
the honor of finding a name for our new pet. And oh, what a name we created. We called the cat Robert
Michael Drake, John Paul Jones, Sappenfield the first.
Well, what could you expect? We were children, after all, and it was a committee effort. Still, even
we understood that with a name that long, it would take half the night to call that poor cat home for
supper. So we shortened it to Bobby. Bobby grew into a glorious cat. He was huge, must have been some
Maine coon in his pedigree.
His fur was lush and thick and had beautiful markings. His eyes were the color of antique gold and they
look straight into your soul. But his most striking feature was his tail, his incredibly long and bushy
tail. Even Bobby seemed to understand
that his tail was his best feature. Whenever a stranger came to the house, Bobby would strut across
the floor like a fashion model, that glorious tail gracefully unfurled over his head. And he wouldn't
stop the performance until the newcomer said a few words of praise about the wonder that was Bobby's
tail. It's ironic that it was that lovely tail that nearly cost Bobby his life.
He went out one summer day and did not return. We searched everywhere calling his name. We asked the
neighbors. We put up posters. But a full week passed before Bobby finally dragged his poor emaciated
body up to our back stoop. Oh, he was a sorry sight. His fur was torn and matted. He was skin and bones.
His eyes were dim.
But the worst sight of all was that tail, that once glorious tail. It was mangled. The vet said that
it looked as though Bobby had gotten his tail caught in a rabbit snare, and that it must have taken
him that entire week to work his way loose. Gangrene had set in, and the doctor was going to have to
remove the tip of the tail to save the cat's life.
I remember sitting through that operation. Every so often, the nurse would stick her head into the waiting
room door and give us an update. It was never good news. In fact, the message was always the same. The
gangrene has spread further than we expected. The doctor is going to have to take off a little more
of the tail.
The gangrene has spread further than expected. The doctor is going to have to take off a little more
of the tail. The gangrene has spread further. By the time the operation was over, all that was left
of that exceptionally long and bushy tail was a tiny little one-inch stub. I guess you could say that
Bobby's physique finally matched his name. Well,
We were all concerned about how Bobby would react to the loss of his favorite appendage, but we needn't
have worried about it. As far as Bobby was concerned, nothing had changed. I walked into the living
room one day and Bobby was performing a sort of pantomime. He would reach back one of his forepaws and
he would drag it to the front and then he would lick the air above his paw.
I called mom in and said, what is our cat doing? She watched for a while and she said, well,
I can't be sure, of course, but I think he's grooming his tail. What tail, mom? She said, well, have
you never heard of a phantom limb? And sure enough, our cat had a phantom tail. If you were brushing
him and you failed to brush the entire length of that invisible tail, he would be myth.
And if you step too close to him, he might yell and rake your ankle with his claws and you couldn't
even blame him because you had evidently just trod upon his phantom tail. And when strangers came, he
would still do his strutting model routine and not stop until we convinced some poor confused stranger
that they need to praise a non-existent tail.
Well, Bobby may have lost something in his ordeal that summer, but he seemed to have gained something
as well. My baby sister was the first to notice. She said, Bobby is predicting the weather. And we looked
and she was right. Bobby would settle down in front of the best radiator in the house four hours before
the cold front came through. And if Bobby refused to go out on a bright sunny day,
You could wager money that it would be pelting down rain or sleet or snow by mid-afternoon. And it turned
out that the weather wasn't the only thing Bobby could predict. One day, Bobby took it in his head to
keep my father home. Anybody else could come and go as they wanted, but anytime Dad approached the door,
there would be that huge cat in the door frame blocking his way, teeth bared, claws unsheathed.
Finally, we all banded together to distract the cat long enough for Dad to sneak out by the back door.
But at dinner that night, Dad said, well, I wish I had listened to Bobby and stayed home. It was a horrible
day. And to make matters worse, on the way home, I had a fender bender. There's going to be hundreds
of dollars of damages there. I wish I'd stayed home.
It didn't happen very frequently, but every so often, Bobby would take it into his head to keep one
or the other of us at home. And at first, we always did our best to help his chosen victim escape. And
the results were always the same. They'd come home that evening and say, I wish I hadn't gone out. Something
bad would always happen. My sister Sue slipped on the ice and broke her ankle.
Mother spoke a few ill-chosen words and damaged a lifelong friendship. Well, a few more instances like
that and we started to pay attention to the cat. If Bobby wanted you to stay home, you stayed home.
We called it taking a Bobby day. Then came that fateful day when Bobby didn't want any of us.
to leave the house. No matter who approached the door, there would be Bobby blocking the way. I'm ashamed
to say that we had a bit of fun teasing the cat. We would head towards different doors at the same time
and watch the poor beast just run his little paws off trying to block us all. But he needn't have worried.
We knew enough to pay attention. We all stayed home. We settled in with books or records or knitting,
whatever struck our fancy.
Even though we were all home, Bobby was still in a state of high anxiety. The tension was just rolling
off him. He would pace from room to room and person to person. He would plant himself at your feet,
look into your eyes, and make this deep burbling sound in his throat that just epitomized worry. Well,
finally, Mother said, if I'm stuck at home, I might as well get some laundry done.
So she went down to the cellar with a load and as she was coming back up the basement steps there was
Bobby blocking her way. She said, Steve, I think you better come see this. Dad came down the stairs
to join her and now Bobby was blocking both of them. Dad gave the situation some thought and then he
called up. He said, girls, I want you to get some blankets, some pillows, some snack foods, some drinks, books,
whatever you need to entertain yourself, and come on down to the cellar. Bobby wants us to spend some
time in the basement. And that's what we did. We all came down there. We set up a little sort of camp
underneath the big wooden table that my mother used to fold the laundry on. And we played games and
read out loud. It was one of the nicest family days I can remember. Cloistered as we were in the basement,
We didn't notice what was happening outside. We didn't see how dark the sky was growing or notice that
green tinge to the clouds and we certainly didn't hear the change in tempo of the wind. We did hear
the siren when it went off and moments later all hell broke loose above us. Our little town with next
to no warning
was experiencing the worst tornado of its history. Pretty much any place a family member might have
chosen to go that day, the church, the school, the library, the grocery store, friend's house, all of
them reduced to rubble. Our own house was badly damaged, but down there in the cellar under that heavy
oak table, we came out unscathed. Well, the human members of the family came out unscathed.
Bobby had never left the staircase. He had stood sentinel there guarding us, and in that exposed position,
well, the storm just took him away. We clamored out of what was left of our home and began to try to
help our less fortunate neighbors, all the while keeping one eye open for our precious cat. And we would
ask people if they'd seen him, but the answer was always no.
Finally, just before dusk began to fall, a stranger approached us. He said, are you the folks that are
looking for a big bobtailed cat? We said, yes. He says, I think I found him. He led us two or three
blocks away to one of the few trees that was still standing. And he pointed up and sure enough dangling
there amid the branches was our Bobby. The man said, I think I know where I can get an extension ladder.
I'll bring it and we'll get him down.
But before the man left, he looked one more time up that tree and he said, you know, I've looked at
that cat from every angle and I cannot for the life of me figure out what's keeping him up there, why
he hasn't just plummeted to the earth. Well, after he left, we all looked up at Bobby and then we smiled
at each other for we understood what had happened. Our brave and resourceful cat had managed to save
himself. He'd done it.
by snagging a branch with that exceptionally long and bushy tail. I think she made that up.
What do you think?
So hi, I'm Christina Jones, and I'm so glad to see you all here tonight. The story I'm going to tell
you is called A Pottle of Brains. And pottle was a new word for me, so being a good librarian,
I looked it up, and I found out that it's Middle English for a smallish pot. Not a cauldron, we're not
talking a vat, but a very smallish
Humble pot. So now I'm going to tell you about Jack and his mother. Jack was so pretty. So pretty. He
had really nice, fine, fair hair. He had sparkly green eyes. And he had the sweetest ears that just
laid so nicely against his head.
between those ears was not a lot. Not a lot going on, but he was so pretty and such a good boy that
his mother, like most, just doted on her son and doted and doted. And as time went on, Jack grew up
to be a doted on beautiful boy. And his mother worked her fingers to the bone to keep body and soul
alive in a
roof over their head and in the meantime Jack would sit there and look pretty and he'd clean the house
and make sure dinner was made and be there for his mama when she came home. Well time went on and his
mama was getting tired. She was farming herself out to clean this and that and finally the only person
that would take her was the blacksmith and she was scrubbing on that anvil all day and just getting
all sooty and tired and she got home and she was pretty grumpy. Jenny, she was grumpy.
It was her time. And she threw herself on the chair, and she said, Jack, I'm tired. What you need to
do is get yourself a bottle of brains and help out around here. Get yourself a bottle of brains, why
don't you? Yes, ma'am, said Jack. And he sprung up, and he ran out the house. And he started shouting,
who's got a bottle of brains? I need a bottle of brains. Help, help. My mama needs me to get a bottle
of brains. Well, everybody took pity on Jack, because he was so pretty.
And one of them suggested that he go see the henwife. Well, the henwife was a very controversial figure
in this village. Now, there are half of them that thought she was a wise woman. And half of them thought
she was a witch. And Jack landed in the latter category. So he approached this henwife with some trepidation.
He walked up to her cottage, and there she was on the porch with all her hens all over the place.
He said, hello, henwife.
Nice day, huh? Nice hens you got there." Well, the hen wife knew what she was looking at, and she said,
Jack, what have you come for? What do you need from me? Oh, well, he said, I was wondering if perhaps
you had a bottle of brains about, just, you know, in the corner collecting dust. Maybe you don't need
any more. Maybe I could have them.
said the henwife, I might, I might, but you can't get something for nothing. So what I need for you
to do is bring me the heart of the thing you love the best. Thought Jack, all right. And so he turned
around and he started walking home and he was getting kind of lightheaded because he hadn't eaten that
nice supper that he had made for he and his mother.
His stomach was growling and he was thinking and thinking was always a really hard thing for him to
do. It did not enjoy it. It took a lot of energy. And so he was thinking and hungry and he thought,
the thing I love the best, of course, it's the steak that I made for tonight. It's beef, of course,
that's the thing. And so he got a spring in his step. He knew just what to do. So he ran home and he
burst into the cottage and he said, mother, mother, we have to kill the cow.
kill the cow, said the mother, why? Well, and he explained about the henwife and the heart of the thing
he loved the best. All right, Jack, all right. I guess there's nothing for it. So Jack took out his
knife and he pulled out his belt and he started to sharpen his knife. And he took that knife and he
went out into the pasture. And I'm sorry to say he in fact killed that poor cow. And he filleted and
he did this and that, what they do to cows.
He cut out that heart, and he wrapped it up in brown paper. And he walked in triumph to the henwife's
house. And he laid this bloody heart on her table. Well, here it is, the heart of the thing I love the
best. Hm, said the henwife. And she looked at the bloody package, and she said, all right, we're halfway
there. Now answer me this.
What has four stiff standers, four dilly danders, two lookers, two croakers, and a wig wag? Can you
answer that? Oh, Jack hated riddles. They were the worst. He was never good at riddles. He always relied
on his mother to think of him. I'm sorry. I just don't know. Too bad.
No puddle of brains for you this time. Try harder." And so Jack went home, dejected. And he opened the
cottage door and he said, mother, mother. But there was no reply. He looked for her in the barn. He
looked for her all until he remembered, oh, well, she was tired. And so he went upstairs. And there
he found his poor mother lying
on the bed, still lifeless. Oh, said Jack, and he fell to his knees, and he moaned, and he cried, and
he held his mother's hand, and he said, Mother, you birthed me, you raised me, you worked your fingers
till the bone, until now you're here. Oh, Mother, I loved you best. Best. And he let go of her hand.
picked up his knife and he reached out and he started to sharpen his knife and he raised his knife but
he couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it. So he put his knife back into his belt and he lifted his
poor mother and he hoisted her over his shoulder and that's how he went to the house of the henwife.
And he burst into her door and he laid his mother there on the table. And he said, here, here, inside
this woman is the heart of the thing that I love the best. Hmm, said the henwife. Now we're getting
somewhere. All right, all right, let me think. Okay, okay, okay, answer me this. Oh, said Jack.
All right, what's greater than God?
worse than the devil. The dead can eat it, but if we eat it, we die. I was so close. Sorry, Jack, not
good enough. Try harder. And so Jack lifted his poor mother and he walked out into the road until finally
he just collapsed in despair
Oh, he said, my poor cow is gone. My mother's gone. I have no brains. I have nothing. And he wept and
he cried for his mother and his cow and his lack of brains until his cries reached the ear of a young
farmer named Meg, who happened to be tilling her land, land that she bought from her hard earned money.
And she went to see what this poor boy was all troubled about. And he told her, and she held his head
and stroked his head as if he were one of her lambs, one of her very own. She was looking at how very
fine his head was and how very sweetly his ears laid right against its head. And she noticed there wasn't
much in between which could make for a fine husband. So after he calmed down a bit,
Meg said, Jack, tell me this. Are you a married man? Oh, I have nothing. You know this. All right. How
do you feel about cleaning pots? Oh, I'm actually pretty good at it. Cooking? Yes, yes. I just made
a very fine steak for my mother and me. How about shopping? Yes, yes.
Yes, why? Why? I think you and I would make a great match. And it was decided. So that evening, they
had a very somber and proper funeral. And that morning, they had a lovely, lovely wedding. And the confetti
from their wedding blew with the wind over the fresh dirt of the grave of his mother. And they lived
happily in Meg's cottage
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and they were so full of bliss. One evening, Jack
had made an exceptionally fine bean stew, and Meg had her feet up by the fire. And Jack looked over
at Meg, and he said, Meg, I think I love you best of... Best of...
his knife, and he pulled his belt, and he started to sharpen it. And he felt Meg's hand on his wrist.
He looked up. She said, a beating heart is better than a dead one. Let's go see the henwife together.
Why don't we? So that's how they went, hand in hand, to the henwife's cottage. And she was very glad
to see them. And he said, here she is, as I live and breathe.
the heart of the thing that I love the best." And the henwife's eyes grew bright and she said, all right,
now we're getting somewhere. Okay, all right. Your first riddle, if you're ready. What has four stiff
standers, four dilly danders, two lookers, two croakers, and a wig wag? Meg whispered into his ear.
A cow, said Jack.
with utter confidence. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. You're right, said the henwife. Yes, yes, yes. All right,
you're ready for the next one. Okay. What's greater than God, worse than the devil, the dead can eat
it. But if we eat it, we die. Now I've been thinking about this one. When he thought so hard that sweat
was beating on his forehead, and Meg whispered into his ear.
Meg, I can't say nothing. I have to give this woman an answer. Oh, nothing, nothing, nothing. Yes, yes,
yes, said the henwife. All right, your final riddle and you'll have your paddle of brains. Are you ready?
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Okay, what is the golden box that has no top and no bottom, but it's filled
with bone and flesh and skin? And it has the ability
to turn two into one. Hmm, said Jack. That's a tricky one. And Meg kissed his sweet ear and whispered.
A wedding ring, said Jack. And the hen wife merely danced around the cottage. Yes, yes, yes. Jack, you
found your puddle of brains. At last, you've must married a clever wife.
Finally Jack understood, and he and Meg lived out their day in utter bliss. Thank you. I have a story
about a pot of beans. No. The motif of the evening. Actually, I have a story.
I come from a long line of storekeepers. And in fact, one of them was reputed to be not a very nice
person. Well, that's not the story that he came to a dastardly end, by the way. It's a different story.
I'll work on that one. But this story is about just such a storekeeper. He was kind of mean.
gruff. When people came into his stores, you had to keep your eye on that storekeeper. Because if you
were going to get some salt or some beans or, or anything else that needed to be measured on the scale,
you needed to watch that he didn't slip his thumb up there and kind of add a little weight, short weight
you. You also had to watch when you
got something off the shelf, and it said it was going to sell for a certain amount, and you'd get up
there, and you'd kind of up the price a little bit, hoping you wouldn't notice. So you had to keep your
eye on this fellow. You had to use some caution. Now, you might be saying to yourself, then don't go
to his store. But his was the only one in about 10 miles.
had to go there. They just knew that they needed to use caution when dealing with him. Now they were
a religious folk that lived in this area and there was a big revival going on. The Baptist Church was
having a revival. It had been a tremendous success going on three weeks this revival had been.
And many of them had been there and they had been spiritually uplifted. They felt moral and good in
their relationship to God and to Jesus. Some of them got together and said, we need to get the storekeeper
to the revival. We need to make him a moral man. We need to have him see the light.
And so they started working on the feller and telling him he needed to go to the revival. Well, they
badgered him so that finally he agreed on the very last night that, yeah, all right, I'll go.
And he did. And he marched right down front, right in front of the preacher man, and he sat down just
so everybody could see that he'd gone there.
Well, they started singing, and the preacher preached. Everybody was hallelujah-ing. And finally, the
storekeeper down front said, amen. And his neighbors came up, people that traded with him and they took
him by the elbows,
And when the altar call came, they took him down to the front where he pledged that he had been saved.
Most people didn't feel like it was probably true. So a few of them went to the store the next day to
see what might transpire.
Nearer, my God, to thee. While the storekeeper was going around, he was singing hymns and quoting scripture.
They still didn't believe it. But after a while, a little boy came in. And they all knew that the old
storekeeper couldn't stand kids.
him a bit. He was mean to him. And when this little boy came in, the storekeeper looked at him and said,
Howdy, young man. What can I do for you today? Well, I got a nickel. I'd like a nickel's worth of candy,
please. And he handed the storekeeper the nickel and the neighbors
People in the store watched as the storekeeper went around and filled a sack with not a nickel's worth,
but at least 25 cents worth of candy. Rolled the top of that sack and gave it to the young man. And
the little boy headed out, took the nickel and dropped it in the till and said,
suffer the little children to come unto me. They were impressed. Well, it wasn't too much longer before
Mrs. Myers came into the store and, well, it was her father's 90th birthday and she wanted to pick up
some useful things to give to him as a gift. Well, humming rock of ages, the
The storekeeper went around and he pulled out a bandana handkerchief, a Barlow knife, and some sock
supporters. Put them in a bag. Now that was at least $2 worth of merchandise. But the storekeeper said,
that would be 50 cents, Mrs. Myers. She gave him the 50 cents and went on her way
He took the 50 cents and he put it in the till and said, honor thy father and thy mother. Well, they
were really impressed. They had really changed this man. Now, about this time, they heard a sound outside
the store. Well, it was a great big pickup truck,
a full pickup truck, much nicer than what they had around there, and it had a long horse trailer on
it. And pretty soon in the door walked a tall fella in fancy cowboy boots, 10 gallon hat. He walked
up. The storekeeper said, what can I do for you, sir? I am needing a horse blanket.
for my horse," said the storekeeper. Now, he hadn't sold a horse blanket in probably 10 years, but he
had a stack of old ones out in the feed shed. So he went out, he found this cruddy old brown horse blanket,
kind of flicked off the insects and the bugs and
Brought that blanket in and laid it on the counter. He said, now that's a fine horse blanket. Now it's
probably worth about $2. But the storekeeper said, I'll sell that to you for $9.98. I have a horse worth
thousands of dollars out in that trailer.
blanket is not good enough for my horse. Got something else?" And so the storekeeper went back out to
that stack of old horse blankets all alike, different colors, and he pulled out a green one. And again,
he made sure there weren't any pigeon droppings on it.
sort of thing. Well, it was a little moth eating around the edge, but he brought in the green blanket
and he laid it down on the counter. He said, now this is a finer blanket than the one I just showed
you. This one is $49.98.
That blanket is not good enough for this Tennessee walker horse that I have out in the trailer. I want
your finest blanket. All right. And the storekeeper went out to the feed shed, pulled out a red blanket.
and folded it, gave it a shake, got all the bits and insects and so forth, all of it. Notice that it
was kind of faded on one side, so he folded it so the bright side was up. And he brought out that blanket
and he put it on the counter and he said, there is my finest horse blanket.
$99.98. And the stranger looked at it and he pulled out a $100 bill and he handed it to him and said,
keep the change. And he picked up the horse blanket and he walked out. And the neighbors all heard as
that pickup truck started up and
went away, and they all turned to look at the storekeeper. Just as I am. And he held up that $100 bill,
looked at it, and said, for he was a stranger, and I took him in.
And that's the story of the storekeeper. Thank you all for joining us tonight. We do invite you to join
us out in the atrium for refreshments and to meet the tellers. We are really rare people, aren't we?
And again, thank you to the friends of the library.
Thank you to Adult Services of the Monroe County Public Library, and most of all, thank you to you,
our audience.