Liz's Ireland Journal

Bringing a Little Bit of Arizona to Dublin

"But one year as I grew older

Mama firmly told me no.

When the boys went out on roundup,

Mama said I couldn't go.

Then she tried to teach me cooking,

How to sew and keep the place.

But my heart was roping yearlings,

And I longed to barrel race."

(from "Tomboy," by Dee Strickland Johnson)

Last year I was the featured teller for the June meeting of the Dublin Yarnspinners.  I got an email from Aideen McBride in early May asking if I would tell for them again on June 12^th and I was delighted to accept.

The Dublin Yarnspinners are led by Aideen, her father Jack Sheehan, and Jack Lynch.  That’s me talking to Jack Sheehan at the left.  Jack is one of my favorite people.  I first met him two years ago when we both participated in Tales on the Rails.  We, and several other storytellers, told stories on the train from Dublin to Belfast to call attention to storytelling in general and to Cultra specifically.  Cultra is the annual storytelling festival at the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum that Liz Weir has been organizing for twenty years. I had a great time with Jack and later told Aideen that, god forbid, should anything happen to my husband Mark, I’d be interested in her dad.  “Get in line,” she said.

Liz Weir drove me to Dublin for the evening.  When we got inside the Teacher’s Club on Parnell Square where the meetings are held, there was Dwight Oglesby sitting outside the room on a bench.  In just another moment, Sandy came around the corner!  Liz knew they would be in Dublin and had helped them figure out how to be there as a surprise for me.

They had a good turnout.  I’m not sure exactly how many, but the room felt full. Last year I told stories about my grandmother, so this year I told about my grandfather, Harry P. Irving.  After giving some general background and a few anecdotes about him, I told “The Horny Toad’s Grandparent’s.” Then I told Dee Strickland Johnson’s poem “Tomboy.” I finished the first set with “The Calf Scramble.” 

Then several people, including Sandy and Liz, came up from the audience to tell.  We took a break and I visited with lots of people from the audience including Richard Marsh, a Dublin storyteller, and a woman I’d met the previous year. When we resumed, several more people told and then it was my turn again.  I told “The Underground Forest” and closed with “A Full Brain,” a story about how storyteller’s came to be.  I had intended to work in “Ballerina Eyelashes,” but we ran out of time.

We had to drive back to Athlone, so we got out of there as quickly as we could – which wasn’t all that quickly.  Jack Lynch drove us back to the Setanta Car Park where we’d left our car.  We got back to Athlone about 12:30 a.m.  I expected to fall into bed, but my two flatmates, Mary Aldridge and Elizabeth Ursic, were still up, so we stayed up too and exchanged rants on various topics with them.

Liz Weir

“The lamp that lit that room, a thousand pounds wouldn’t buy a wick for it.”  (a disguised description of the moon from “Lord Benbow’s Table” from When Turkeys Chewed Tobacco by George Sheridan)

Liz Weir was the lamp that lit the room of the Three Rivers Storytelling Festival for most of the week of June 10^th.  She arrived on Monday night to tell in Longford on Tuesday.  She told for two Galway libraries, Loughrea and Portumna, on Wednesday.  On Thursday she came to my class in the morning and then told for Athlone’s Aidan Heavey Library in the afternoon.  Thursday night she took me to the Yarnspinners in Dublin.  Friday morning she told at the library in Ballinasloe and by Friday night she was back home in Cushendall. 

During the week we had three great dinners out: Tuesday at The Olive Garden by the bridge over the Shannon in Athlone, Wednesday night with Danielle Allison at Grogan’s Pub in Glasson on Lough Ree, and Thursday night in Dublin at Dunne & Crescenzi, a wonderful Italian place a couple of streets over from Grafton Street.  It was a week full of stories, conversation, and food.  I was so sorry to see her go.

With my students in The Irish Storytelling Tradition, Liz emphasized the importance of being yourself as a storyteller and that each of us has his or her own style to find, develop and honor.  She told them how she became a storyteller and some of the ways that she has applied storytelling to issues of social justice. She told them several stories including “Lord Benbow’s Table” which is one of my favorites.

Her work to stop bullying and to promote tolerance made a great impression on them.  She developed and wrote the scripts for a series of cartoons on Early Years: The Organization for Young Children.  If you haven’t seen them, check them out here. They are deceptively simple and very moving.  There are six cartoons on themes including the inclusion of children who live in minority ethnic communities or who have a disability or physical difference. Last year when she was here she met some Traveler children in Ballinasloe and told them about one of the scripts she was developing.  One of their comments ended up in the final product – a comment about a dog – “He’s only being playful.”

             I had asked the class to read two articles by Liz, “Listen Up! A Tale of the Teller” and “Paddy the Irishman.”  Here are some of their comments about Liz and what they read:

“This was probably my favorite article so far because I could relate to it. I’m studying human development and declining communication skills and confidence are two major things that this generation is faced with, probably due to so much instant technology i.e. texting, e-mail, TV.. Everything’s so efficient that we no longer require good old fashion books, phone calls, or face to face chats!  I’m totally guilty too, but I’m afraid to see what’s going to happen to my kids or grandkids. I really love reading children’s books. I collect all the good ones because I have so much fun reading to them and acting them out. It’s something I hope to instill in my own children someday.”

“I really liked this. I loved Liz. She was so cool. I love that she wrote this and I want everyone to read it. Because even though it seems like we’re are becoming a more okay society with different ethnicities were still making jokes at others expenses just to get a laugh and that’s not okay. And we need to realize when we have gone too far.

“I really liked this article! I love that they (storytellers) are giving their skills back to the community! I love that they care enough about these kids and help them better with the talking and listening skills! It is such a good idea to have every teacher have this in their classrooms!”

“I enjoyed reading this article because I got an understanding of how important storytelling really is and also how effective it can be too. It makes me want to start telling stories to little kids.”

Liz told my students that the power of storytelling lies in the imagination.  The storyteller evokes images, but does not actually provide them the way television or movies do.  Listening to stories allows "the audience to do a bit of the work."  That, says Liz, is what engages them more deeply in what they are hearing. 

Niall De Búrca Comes to Athlone

                                                                                                                
                         “Stories are everywhere – they fall from the trees.” So we learned from Niall De Búrca, the second of our Three Rivers Storytelling Festival tellers. His exuberant, boisterous passionate, kinetic style of telling dazzled the students in my class. He started off with one of his signature stories; he called it his “flagship” story, “How the English Language Came to Be.”

Niall was raised in Galway, but his “bones” – his ancestors – come from County Mayo. I was delighted with the way that he consistently reinforced something that I want the students to understand: the connection between story, place, and family. All of his stories were connected to a particular place or to places in the Irish landscape. More than once he leapt to the map at the back of the room to show us just exactly where the story took place, or which family names were associated with which region of the country.

             He told us that it was the responsibility of the storyteller to “know the landscape, know the peoples of the landscape, and to know the stories of the people.” He talked about the huge social changes that were taking place in Ireland as the “new Irish” came with their talents, traditions and stories. He is committed to insuring that children are connected to traditional knowledge.

             His second story was “The Origin of the River Shannon.” He based his version on that of Douglas Hyde. He told us that folklore was so important to the Irish that their first president, Mr. Hyde, was a folklorist. The previous week Nuala Hayes had told one of the library audiences a very different version of the story. I wished my students had been able to hear both versions. It would have been a great teaching moment on the variety of stories in the tradition and what happens to them in the hands of different storytellers.

              One of my favorites of the day was a story about a woman he met in a nursing home in New Zealand. She asked him if he liked to sing, and when he said he did, they sang “Johnson’s Motor Car,” (click here for the lyrics) which is a song from the rebellion. In brief, Doctor Johnson’s car is appropriated by the rebels to transport guns and soldiers. After the war, he and his family emigrate to New Zealand. We end up learning that the old woman was his daughter. It was a great example of how to integrate history, music, and tradition into a story that can link them all together.

He ended his session with us by telling a long ghost story about Bearchan, one of the four wise men of Ireland. As he had throughout the session, he made the students jump with sudden changes in volume and intensity. They loved it every time.

Niall said that the storyteller’s primary tasks were to tell from the tradition, to add to the tradition, and most importantly to enjoy the process. He embodied all three. He told us traditional stories in modern accessible language and there was absolutely no doubt that he was enjoying himself. He incorporated some Irish when he was telling to my students, but later in the afternoon he was telling to the students from the Gael school he often told bilingually.

             Niall’s style is to embody his stories. He tells them with great physicality, and with every muscle of his body – especially those in his face. He incorporates accents from all over Ireland into his stories as well. We, with our inexperienced ears, could perceive the differences but not really understand their referents. The children in the afternoon, however, knew them well and it was clear that it deepened their enjoyment of the stories. To my class he had explained that the accents and facial expressions were all part of “setting hooks” to pull people into the story.

After his session with my students we grabbed lunch at the Londis and rushed down to the Aidan Heavey Library in Athlone. We had tea with Gearoid O’Brien and then Niall did his first session. We squeezed another cup of tea in before his second session. By 2:30 he was back on the road to a recording studio in Dublin where he was working on a recording of stories told by children.

One of the last things he told my students was that stories are “press-ups” for the imagination. He credited the Kerry writer Brian McMahon with saying that as food is to the body, and church is to the spirit, stories are to the imagination. I hope they remember that.

A Dream Realized

           The first night she got here we learned from our new colleague, Elizabeth Ursic, that she had been harboring a dream since the last time she visited Dublin in the summer of 2005.  Her dream, tenderly nurtured these many years, was to play the spoons. She already played the piano and the cello, but the problem with them is that neither is portable or percussive.  She said the spoons were the perfect third instrument for her since they met both of those criteria.

             When we were at the South Roscommon Singers Circle last Saturday night, Elizabeth asked Declan Coyne if he knew anybody who could teach her how to play the spoons.  He discouraged her in the strongest terms from undertaking such a task.  Now, if an Irish musician had told me that the spoons weren’t a proper instrument, and in fact were considered a nuisance, I would have skulked off in humiliation and abandoned my goal in an instant.  Not Elizabeth; she held on tight to her dream.

              Her constancy paid off quickly.  It turned out that Danielle Allison actually had some experience with the spoons.  She came in with us late Saturday night – actually early Sunday morning – and gave Elizabeth a quick lesson.

                But the big payoff came the next day.  Elizabeth told her students about her dream, and one of them introduced her to Barry Brady, a local friend of our colleague Bob Farwell.  Barry is a musician and he sat Elizabeth down on the apartment steps and gave her accelerated and highly effective training in the spoons.  Within a matter of moments she was playing them with verve and style. 

             Then she and Barry were joined by Peter, also known as “Mouse,” with his twelve-string guitar. Next, out came one of our SAI participants, Jared Corder, and his six-string guitar. Barry ran home and got his tin whistles and they all began to play, with Elizabeth accompanying them on the spoons.  Then several other students came to sit on the steps for the impromptu concert.

             Within eight days of arriving in Ireland, Elizabeth had achieved her dream.  By early the following week she was teaching others. It’s moving and inspiring to see such a powerful connection between a musician and her instrument.  The woman was born for it!

The South Roscommon Singers Circle

Songs of our land, ye are with us forever,

The power and the splendor of thrones pass away,

But yours is the might of some far flowing river

Through Summer’s bright roses and Autumn’s decay.

Ye treasure each voice of the swift passing ages

And truth, which time writeth on leaves or on sand,

Ye bring us the bright thoughts of poets and sages

And keep them among us, old Songs of Our Land.

(Frances Brown (1816-1879), The Blind Poetess of Stranorlar)

                                      On Saturday, June 7^th, Danielle Allison took Elizabeth Ursic and me to Knochcroghery for the monthly South Roscommon Singers Circle.  It’s held in the back room of a tiny pub called Jimmy Murray’s.  The seats around the perimeter of the room were filled when we arrived, so we pulled stools up to the outside of a couple of table and listened to the song in progress.  They took a break shortly afterwards and Danielle told the emcee, Declan Coyne, that I would be happy to tell if he wanted me to.

             When they started back up we heard a song or two and then Declan introduced me.  I told “A Whole Brain,” a story from Kazakhstan of how storytellers came into the world.  As I finished, I said “And that’s how singers like . . .” and I indicated their special guest singer.  But as I started to point to the singer, Declan called out, “Vincent Pearse,” and that’s when I realized that Vincent, a local storyteller, was there and I said, “Yes, that’s how Vincent Pearse came to be here telling stories to us all.”

             The evening was great we heard song after song, most of which I did not recognize.  I did know a few, including “She Moved Through the Fair,” “The Patriot Game,”   and “Dear Old Skibbereen.” Here are the first two stanzas of Skibbereen:

Oh father dear, I often hear you speak of Erin's isle

Her lofty hills, her valleys green, her mountains rude and wild

You say she is a lovely land wherein a saint might dwell

So why did you abandon her, the reason to me tell.

Oh son, I loved my native land with energy and pride

Until a blight came on the land, my sheep, my cattle died

My rent and taxes went unpaid, I could not them redeem

And that's the cruel reason why I left old Skibbereen.

           On the next break I got to talk with Vincent for a few minutes.  I had heard him the first year I was here in a storytelling and music program at the Dean Crowe Theater in Athlone.  He said he is doing quite a bit of telling throughout the country.  I also visited with Declan who is the founder of the circle. He looked familiar to me, and Danielle confirmed later that I had met him and heard him sing at the Ballinasloe River and Arts Festival two years ago. He also organizes the South Roscommon Singers Festival and the “Annie McNulty Award," which recognizes significant contributions to the art of traditional singing. 

             I learned this about him from a book he authored called Alone by the Wildwood: A Roscommon Song Book.  The book, which comes with a cd, includes lyrics and background information on songs that have come from Roscommon.  I have the book because of the raffle that was held that evening.  I didn’t actually win the book, but most of the people attending already had it.  After the fourth or fifth try, someone said, “Just give it to the Americans.” I was delighted to get it.

             Several people chose to tell stories or recite during the evening.  Danielle did a nice job with the story of the thieves’ child who steals the midwife’s wedding ring. Vincent Pearse told a story about a man who married a bossy woman from America.  She wants him to greet the priest in a very precise way which of course goes all wrong.  Another man told a funny story about two men who see a man with a big salmon.  He tells them he caught the fish by lowering himself over the bridge and waiting for a salmon to come by and then grabbing it with his hands.  They like this idea, so they go to a bridge and the stronger one lowers the other one over the bridge by his ankles. 

All of a sudden the one waiting to grab the fish says, “Bring me up! Bring me up!”

The other says, “Did you catch something?”

“No! There’s a train coming!”

We really enjoyed the evening.  About midnight, someone came around with several baskets of chips and sausages and we dug in with everyone else. The only downside to the evening was the noisy drinkers in the front of the pub. Declan told me that the former owner, who passed away in January, would never have allowed the noise during a singing circle.  When I was telling my second story, several people loudly shushed them. 

I got the poem at the beginning from Declan's book, Alone by the Wild Wood.  The picture at the top is Danielle telling her story; Declan Coyne is at the far left.  Below are the three of us outside the pub.

            

            

There Really Are Witches Here

On Friday, June 6^th, we went to Loughcrew, also known as the Sliabh Na Callighe – the hill of the witch. The callighe in the name is a reference to the cailleach, the great Celtic titanic goddess who is one of my favorites.  It always burns me to hear her referred to as a witch, but this year I learned something that helped mitigate my annoyance a bit.

The Loughcrew cairns are spread over three hills called Carnbane East, Carnbane West, and Patrickstown located about 40 km west of Newgrange.  They are passage tombs and over the years the stones from many of them have been pillaged for use on local farms.  We visit Carnbane East, the middle hill, dominated by a large central cairn – Cairn T – which is intact.  One of our guides, George Knight, said that the association with the witch may have saved this cairn with its beautifully carved stones from destruction.

This is the third year that we have met guides at the sight. The Office of Public Works keeps a little trailer mid-way up the hill at the car-park where they can shelter when there are no visitors or the weather is foul.  There were three guides there when we visited and one of the others, Jean Thornton, took us into Cairn T. 

Jean told us a version of the story of how the rocks got to the tops of the hills that I hadn’t heard before.  In her version the cailleach fills her apron with rocks as in the others, but instead of hopping from hill to hill she flies.  As she flies to the last hill, Patrickstown, she falls and breaks her neck.  Some say she is buried on that hill.

Unlike Carnbane East and West, Patrickstown is densely wooded.  On previous visits, our director Barry Vaughan has told us that Patrickstown is considered haunted or to be a province of the fairies and hence is not visited much.  I wonder if that is also due to the witch association.  It’s also probably significant that the hill where she died is called Patrickstown, since there are many stories associating him with her demise, or at least her disempowerment. The flying, too, is more what we associate with witches.

Jean also serves as a guide at Tara and at Newgrange.  Since she works at Newgrange, she is allowed to witness the sunrise there at the winter’s solstice.  She told me that last year the sun was absolutely brilliant.  She asked, “You know that the floor of the chamber and the light box at the door are on the same level?”  I nodded that I did and she went on tell me that last year she lay on the ground looking down the passage through the light box.  “The light was so bright I could barely keep my eyes open.” 

When Jean was a girl, her mother would take her and her siblings to Newgrange before it had been restored. They would take candles and crawl down the passage to sit in the chamber.  They could stay as long as they wanted picnicking and playing on the mound and around the great stones.  Now, she says, there is no time for anything because so many people must be marched in and out every day. Check here for pictures of what it looked like in the 50’s and 60’s. 

Several years ago I’d read a newspaper article describing how the archaeologist who excavated and restored Newgrange, Michael J. O’Kelly, had learned from local women about the light box at the entrance and how it functioned.  I’d always been fascinated with the idea that a folk memory of how the light was meant to enter the passage had been preserved for thousands of years after the site had been abandoned by its makers. “Rumors,” she said.  “There were rumors in the area of how it worked.”

Back to witches.  It was very windy when we visited.  A few of our students, including Jared Corder and my student Ashley Bagley, were huddled in one of the smaller passage tombs with no roof when they heard the sound of children approaching. When they stood up to see what was happening, one of the boys pointed at Ashley and said, “There really are witches here!” Within a few moments they were all crowded around her. Later one cheeky lad asked her, “Hey, Miss America, come take a picture with me!”

That Ballerina Story

         Last week at the library when it was time for Nuala to start, I asked the librarian Gearoid O’Brien if he’d like me to introduce her.  He said that he’d been planning to do it,  but that I should go ahead.  I then felt a little awkward and like a pushy American, but Gearoid was gracious.  He said, “No, no. Go ahead.  You’re almost a part of the staff.” 

I welcomed the children and I asked them if they remembered me from the previous summer.  Not only did they remember me – they remembered particular stories.  The two they called out were “The Cow’s Eyelashes” in which I long for ballerina gear, and “The Calf Scramble.”  When Nuala got up to start telling, one little girl asked her, “Will you be telling that ballerina story?”  Nuala said they’d have to ask me about that and I quickly said that maybe they’d hear it later in the summer.

After Nuala was finished, a girl – maybe nine – came up to me and said, “I really want to hear that ballerina story.”  She had a long brown braid down her back, a bright blue headband, and little tortoise-shell glasses.  I said, “We’ll have to check with Mrs. McLynn, the librarian, about that.” I pointed out Mae to her and she said, “I’ll ask her about it myself, will I?”  I nodded and she went right over and had an earnest conversation with Mae.  She then came back and told me, “It’s sorted.”

Sure enough, I will be telling for their school the last week of June!

In the photo above, she is on the left.

Nuala Hayes Kicks-off the Three Rivers Storytelling Festival

“This is the beginning of the story. One day, Bran went walking alone near his home. Hearing music behind him, he looked back often, but he saw nothing. So sweet was the music he lay down and fell asleep. When he awoke, he saw beside him a silver branch, decorated with white blossoms set into it so well it was hard to tell blossom from stem. Bran picked up the wand and returned to his home. His many royal friends were gathered thickly about as he held court, when the mysterious woman appeared in their midst. She calmed and inspired the host as she sang the 50 verses only to Bran, though all could see and hear her. And the Mysterious Lady sang:

Let Bran hear from the crowd of the world

What of wisdom has been told to him.

Do not fall on a bed of sloth.

Let not thy intoxication overcome you;

Begin a voyage across the clear sea,

If perchance you mayst reach the land of women.”

           This is the beginning of “The Voyage of Bran,” which is the first story that Nuala Hayes told us last Tuesday, June 4th.  She was the first teller in our month-long Three Rivers Storytelling Festival.  The story is long and complicated with many adventures – sort of a Celtic odyssey.  It is an example of an Iomramh - a voyage in the physical world or of the mind or the imagination. Nuala’s elegantly crafted and beautifully told version got to the essence of the story and captivated me and my students.

She followed her version with that of Tadhg Pey, a Co. Offaly man she met and has interviewed several times.  When Tadhg (pronounced Tige) turned eighty, he decided to write down all the stories he knew.  When Nuala met him, he gave her a date book into which he had affixed the texts of several of them including his Bran. His version was quite distinct from hers with a very practical orientation.  He told, for example, about how the boat was made and provisioned.  Nuala says this is what you would expect of the no-nonsense natives of that county. It made for a great connection to what the students had just read about the connection between stories and the land.

Nuala then explained the differences between the two primary types of traditional storytellers – the seanchaí and the scéalaí.  The seanchaí knew and told stories, but would have also been the local historian and genealogist.  The scéalaí was more of the “artist” who told the great epic myths from the Ulster and Fenian cycles and the long complicated hero tales.

She finished with her version of “The Weakness of the Ulstermen.”  This is the story of Macha, a goddess married to a mortal, who cursed the Ulstermen for nine generations.  She cursed them because not a one of them showed pity or respect for her when the king forced her to run a race against his horses when she was just about to give birth.  Macha won the race and the Ulstermen were cursed for centuries.  Nuala speculated that perhaps that curse has finally come to end since there is now peace in that province.

           After a short break, Nuala had a session at the Aidan Heavey Library in Athlone.  She had about 60 children from two schools, both within walking distance of the library.  It was great session during which she told the story of the origin of the River Shannon. You might think that children in Athlone - right on the Shannon - would know the story, but few did.

           She finished up with a beautiful story by Mary Lavin the name of which I failed to get.  In brief, it is a story about a boy the fairies can’t keep because he has a thorn in his finger that keeps him linked to this world.  Nuala’s oral version of Mary Lavin’s literary retelling of a folktale was filled with beautiful images – a thatched cottage was described as “a note of gold in a sea of green” – and with a catchy refrain for the children to join in on. It definitely made me want to learn more about Mary Lavin.  Mary Lavin’s daughter suggested the story to Nuala and gave her permission to tell it.  I can understand why;  there is a great fit between story and teller.

The quoted text at the beginning of the post was taken from: http://www.danann.org/library/gael/bran.html and from http://www.lamp.ac.uk/celtic/BranEng.htm

My Mom Would Be Proud

When Nuala Hayes and I went to the Aidan Heavey Library in Athlone yesterday for her storytelling session, we were met by Mae McLynn and Gearoid O’Brien, who work at the library, and by Paula O’Dornan, who works for the Westmeath County Library system.  It was the first time I’d seen them this summer and Mae said, “We have a surprise for you.” Gearoid ran up stairs and came back with this library card.  That’s me in the lower right hand corner of the Westmeath County Library Card!  It was taken while I was telling at the library last summer.  I think Paula must have taken it.

I’ve been thinking about my mom this summer, and actually last summer too.  When we were beginning to plan the festival last year I realized that both the librarians involved were called Mary, just like my mom, who was also a librarian.  I took it as a good sign and evidently it was because the festival has been realized. I think she would have loved meeting the librarians, seeing their libraries, and hearing all the storytellers.  She had passed away by the time I got involved in storytelling, so she never heard me perform – not on stage anyway. I’ve been enjoying imagining how much fun she would be having if she were here.   

The First Day of Class

          These are the students in the summer 2008 Irish Storytelling Tradition class in Athlone, Co. Westmeath, Ireland. In the back from left to right are Jake McKindles, Lindsey Stokes, Arlyn Schmuck, Amber Watson, Marvin Pettet, and Michael O’Connell.  In the front are Ashley Bagley, Alex Shannon, Kalli Fox, Michelle D’Ecclessis, Megan Anderson and Donna Tischer.

Today was our first day of class and we got off to a very good start.  There are twelve of them and I’d met nine of them at an orientation, but didn’t really know anything about them.  When they introduced themselves, I asked them to say why they had come on the program, why they had taken this class, and what they hoped to get out of it.  Their responses were interesting; almost all of them have Irish ancestors, so connecting with heritage is an important motivator.  Some came because they love to travel, others to immerse themselves in Irish culture, others because they had always wanted to visit Ireland.

In response to why they took The Irish Storytelling Tradition their responses were more varied. A couple took it explicitly to learn Irish stories; one said that stories were the “perfect souvenir” of the trip.  A couple others took the class to learn to deal with stage fright or to improve their communication skills.  Several want to learn more about storytelling, to learn to tell or to tell better.  One said she decided to take it because “your whole life you will be telling stories”, so she figured now was the time to learn how.  Another said she chose the course because “Ireland is about story and music.”

After the introductions, I broke them into four groups and led them in an exercise called “Learn an Irish Story Fast.” Each group had a different story, and within minutes the room was full of chatter.  Once they had learned their stories, I sorted them into new groups.  Each member of the new group had a different story.  Once they’d told in their new groups, I asked for volunteers from each story to tell to the whole group. We had four volunteers – Jake McKindles, Amber Watson, Arlyn Schmuck, and Lindsey Stokes – and they all did very well.

After a short break we reviewed the syllabus and talked about their assignments.  I was just telling them that Danielle would be bringing a big stack of books for them to use – when Danielle walked through the door with a very large basketful of books.  She is spooky that way.

Tomorrow will be another good day; it’s the beginning of The Three Rivers Storytelling Festival.  Nuala Hayes, who is arriving this evening, will be in our class to kick-off the festival.