empty chairs

The Preacher and I first experienced the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, Tennessee, in October of 1995. Our son was 6 months old when we first attended.

We sat in hard plastic chairs under big circus-type tents. For three days we were held spellbound listening to storytellers telling Jack tales, folk-lore, personal stories of their families, stories of mythological creatures that hide under bridges in dark forests.

We were hooked. The Preacher and I decided we would not miss one year ever again.

We went home and began to spread the word – "There's this storytelling festival in Jonesborough, Tennessee, you have to come with us!" We told our friends and we told our families. We told any one who would listen. We invited them all to come and sit with us under the tents and listen.

Eventually they did! Each year during the first weekend of October, we had friends or family members joining us on a three day adventure. We loved seeing their excitement upon discovering this storytelling thing.

This year we traveled to the small town of Jonesborough to experience it again. On the first day I was sitting in one of the same hard plastic chairs that I had sat upon 23 years ago and I looked around. The hour of storytelling had not yet begun. People were still arriving, slowly moving about trying to find the perfect seat. My row of seats were still empty. In my mind's eye I could see everyone who had shared this festival with us. I saw them, as if they were sitting right there with me. It was a bittersweet moment. I began to miss them all:

Hank & Alice Smith, Lula Mae Kuhn, Grandma Joan Smith, Brenda Beiter, Aimee Beiter, Michelle & Greg Bontrager, Michelle & J.D. Richards, Jennifer & David Ward, Samuel Smith, J.Keith, Jennifer & Jonah Smith, Tim Johnson

Some of these friends and family members have gone on to be with the Lord, some have moved away and we haven't seen them in a long time, some are in situations where it just isn't possible to join us.

This year we had the joy of introducing the festival to our dear friend, Bill Glover, and we were delighted to find out that the Preacher's preaching buddy, Tim Johnson, would be joining us again. 

We still tell people about the festival. We believe everyone should experience it at least once in their lifetime.

This has become more than just a festival to us. It has become a reunion. A reunion of friends, family, stories and memories.

I would like to close this post with a video of Kathryn Windham at the age of 92, closing out the 2010 Festival. Kathryn passed away in June of 2011. It's a little long, 15 minutes, but if you have time, please listen.

The Good Spreads Out, Where No Telling It Will Go

     

"Granma said when you come on something good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out where no telling it will go. Which is right."   – Forrest Carter, The Education of Little Tree

      The Preacher and I discovered the National Storytelling Festival in June of 1995. The Preacher was working as a youth minister in a church in Florida, when we took the youth group to a CIY conference at Milligan in Milligan College, Tennessee. One day, while the kids had a break, we took them to downtown Jonesborough, Tennessee, the oldest town in Tennessee. While walking around the town the Preacher and I happened upon an old hotel that had all kinds of posters that were advertising the Festival. We walked in and immediately we were hooked. We had walked into the Storyteller's Headquarters. We began to ask all kinds of questions, especially the when and where questions. We found out that the Festival was to take place that October and right away we began making plans.

     We went to our first Storytelling Festival when our son was just 6 months old. We could not get enough. There were men and women from all over the world telling stories after stories that made you laugh and cry. We knew right then and there that two things were going to happen. One, we were going to attend every year and, two, we had to share this with as many people as we could.

    Throughout the last 21 years we have gone back to get filled up with the thing that only the Storyteller's Festival can give – a renewed love of the art of storytelling. Throughout those 21 years we have been spreading the good out to our family and friends. 

     This year we went back and the first teller was up on the stage. He was about to tell. He was someone we were familiar with and we couldn't wait to hear what stories he had to tell this year. After he was done I told the Preacher that I was a little disappointed because the teller's story just seemed to fall flat. A little while later, after hearing a few more tellers, I figured out what was wrong. It wasn't the teller who was flat, it was me. 

     A sadness had taken me over. It hit me that the people that we loved and cared about was not there to enjoy the Festival with us this year. We had spread the good out to our families; to our mother's, to the Preacher's sisters, to his nieces and to our families from our church and especially to our son. They were not there to enjoy this special time. I told the Preacher of what I was feeling and he realized this too. We began to count how many people we had shared this with and how many of them have now gone on to be with our Lord. And those that are still among us, are not able to attend. For the first full day of the Festival I couldn't get the sadness out of my mind.

     For the rest of the weekend, when we had a chance, we would tell stories of our loved ones that had come to partake in the storytelling. We laughed and we cried but we kept them alive with our stories.

     Don't forget to tell your stories. You don't have to be a professional storyteller to tell. All you have to do is say to one other person..."Remember when...." and you've got a story to tell. Spread the good and let it spread out to no telling where it will go.

Love from the Preacher and I

Goodbye Tennessee, Hello Colorado

While I was laying on my cot inside of our tent on the last night we were to be in Tennessee, this thought came to me. In years past, on the last night, I would become very sad, knowing that it was over. 

The National Storytelling Festival would come to an end on the next day and after the last story was told, while the chairs were being packed away and the tents were being taken down, we would pack up our truck and start the long trip back to South Florida, where we used to live. 

On that last night I knew that I did not want to leave those Smoky Mountains, I didn't want to leave the slow pace that the people of Tennessee seem to have down to a science. I didn't want to return to the fast-paced lifestyle that South Florida thrives on. I yearned to stay, I dreamed of the day we could move to the Appalachian hills that were so beautiful during the autumn season.

This year, this trip, I did not have those desires. I realized on that last night, while laying on that cot, I did     not yearn to stay. The Smokey Mountains did not have the same pull on my heart strings that it had in the past.

I'm not quite sure why. Am I finally content here in the slow-paced, northeast corner of Colorado? 

I believe so.

Love from the Preacher and I

National Storytelling Festival

We began coming to this place 19 years ago. Our son was just 5 months old when we discovered Jonesborough, Tennessee. We have returned here some 14 years now. This is the place our son discovered a tradition.

In this place, in this little town, the oldest town in Tennessee, is where thousands of people come together during the first weekend of October every year. Between the storytellers and the people who come to hear their story's, the entire world can be represented here. And through these people, through these story's, we come together as one.

We are transported to the Choctaw Nation where a little Choctaw girl saves a little slave boy; to the country of Wales to see 'Jack' saving the Squire's daughter from a dragon; to South Carolina to hear about a school principal who knew the name of every child in his school and helped them have the best experience during their elementary years; we ride along on boxcars with the hobos. We are excited to hear the next storyteller, we ask ourselves, "Where will they take us next?"

Tim Tingle

On Friday, the first storyteller was Tim Tingle. Tim was the one who taught the preacher how to play the Native American Flute and helped him develop his storytelling skills. Tim started us off with the Choctaw National Anthem. He asked us to sing it along with him. This was the song that the Choctaw Indians learned from Methodist Missionaries and sang while walking on the Trail of Tears. This song is Amazing Grace. He said he prayed that it would be a blessing for the entire weekend. 

Tim's story's will draw you in, they will make you laugh, then cry and then laugh again.
All of the storytellers will do this to you. No matter what kind of story the tellers tell, no matter if you laugh or cry, there will always be a moral to the story. You will leave knowing that you learned some kind of truth.  Like Tim said in one of his stories, "The path to freedom is always there, even if you don't see it."

We gather in large tents, some placed over pavement, some placed upon grass. The chairs sitting so close to each other that you touch your neighbor's elbow. There could be 600+ people placed under these tents, these storytelling tents, but when the story begins, you forget all of that. You are transported into the story with everyone else. You are on this journey together. Together you laugh, cry, gasp, and sigh all in unison.

There is no place on earth that we have found, that can do this. You are lifted up to another plane. When the weekend ends with the Sacred Stories on Sunday, everyone goes back to their cars and we all know that we have experienced something special. You know that there is no where else that you could have found what you just experienced.

On your way home you savor all of the stories you have heard. You retell your favorites. Then those stories begin to remind you of stories of your own childhood, your own travels, your own school days. There, in the stories, you remember and you begin to tell, there is the end result of the weekend, the lesson the tellers were hoping you would learn.

As much fun as this one weekend is, this is not where we were meant to stay. This weekend is to teach us to never stop telling our own stories, to pass them on to our children, and then to their children. The lesson  was the importance of learning from our ancestors and continuing in these traditions.

So the preacher and I hope that you too, will catch a hold of this truth and go and transport your children to a land far, far away.

Love from the Preacher and I

Road Trip!

The preacher, our son and I went on a road trip to Jonesborough, TN last week. 

It's was that time of the year again, time for the National Storytelling Festival!

We had not been to the Festival in 3 to 4 years and since this is our last time 

our son will be able to attend with us (at least for a few years), 

we decided to go this year. 

This was also the preacher's "conference" for the year.

We have an amazing church leadership that encourages the preacher 

to go and to continue his education by attending conferences and seminars each year.

The preacher decided to drive straight through in order to get there within 20 hours.

When we were younger and newly married, we worked for a harness racing stable.

We would be in New Jersey in the summer and then move to Florida for the winter. 

When we left from one stable we had to be at the next stable BEFORE 

the horses arrived. The horse trailers drove straight through 

so we too had to drive straight through.

We were young - no problem!

Now 30 years later we are not young anymore. 

Driving straight through is not as easy as it once was. Even with 3 drivers it is not easy.

Our son helped with the driving and he was a big help!

On our last leg of the trip, as we got closer and closer to Jonesborough, 

we were all so excited to be back in Tennessee. 

Excited to hear some amazing storytellers, excited to see the preacher's mentor, Tim Tingle. Excited to learn new stories, hear new tellers, and to learn new storytelling techniques.

(I will talk more about the Festival in another post.)

We were not disappointed. We loved every bit of our trip.

Storytellers did not disappoint. In fact we were thinking this year might 

have been one of the best years.

On our way home we decided to stop and get a hotel room for the night. 

It was nice to be able to stop and rest. The next day driving 8-9 hours, 

we thought we just might not make it. 

The last 3 hours seemed like it took forever.

It was wonderful to spend time with the preacher all to myself.

It was wonderful having this time with our son.

If you have not been able to take a road trip, I highly recommend it! 

Jump in the car with the ones you love and drive!

Road trips can be a such a special time.

Love from the Preacher and I

national storytelling weekend is over

I had such high hopes to document this weekend in pictures and journal. I journaled this weekend but the pictures didn't get taken. I had 2 cameras in my backpack all weekend long. What people don't understand is that the National Storytelling Festival is intense. You arrive at 8:00am even though the first hour of storytelling doesn't begin until 10:00am. In the last 16 years the crowds have grown so much. There is limited seating in each tent and you know that the most favorite tellers will cause the tents to fill fast. So you arrive early, you find the tent you want to attend (there are 5 tents to choose from.) I heard someone say that there were 61,000 people there this weekend. So when you find a seat you stay there, you save your seats for your family, even tho there are several people who get upset with you for "saving" seats. If you choose to move to another tent you only have a 1/2 hour in between sets, so you have to hurry. Stories are told from 10:00am until 10:00 at night. You are kept busy all day. So stopping to take pictures just isn't in the time frame. So I'll just put some "scraps" in my October book and that will have to do to document this weekend.
This weekend is the only weekend in the whole year that time actually flies. It is the best weekend. The best storytellers from around the world are there to capture your imaginations. These are not your local librarians sitting there reading a book to you, no these are people who actually 'tell' you stories of folklore or a story from their childhood, or a story that is so crazy you know it's not true but you just keep listening and asking for more. Some stories make you laugh so hard that you don't want the story to end but other stories can make you cry that you wish the story wouldn't end just because you love the way the story makes you feel.
If you want to know more about this weekend go to the website for the National Storytelling Festival, Jonesborough TN and I highly recommend this weekend for your whole family.
We have now drove back to Knoxville to get a hotel and get some rest. We have been sleeping in a tent the last 4 days in 50 degree weather and it was damp. We decided to get a more comfortable bed and a warmer room.
My mom had met us in Jonesborough and went to the Festival with us. She stayed there tonight and will leave tomorrow for Indiana. It was a hard goodbye. I'm hoping to be able to see her at Christmas time.
Well I better put this down and get some rest. Sam goes tomorrow to tour Johnson Bible College. Maybe I'll get some pictures tomorrow. I didn't even get pictures of him at Milligan. I really was worried I'd embarrass him.
Okay I really do need to go.