The 4th of July has come and gone, but not without fond memories, particularly since I was able to perform at two of favorite places - the Elijah Iles House and Clayville.
Friday night, though warm, was a perfect evening for the Elijah Iles House' Strawberry Festival, and allowed them to have most everything outdoors. After I changed into my civil war era dress I was shown a rocking chair in the children's tent, with a oriental rug laid out for comfortable games of marbles, which they had set up impressive playing boards for. (Though I was quite surprised to find how few children actually know how to play marbles!) On the table they had an array of 19th century wooden toys - Jacob Ladders, and tops, and hoops, and ball and cup. It was a delight to see not only the children fascinated, but the parents too. The Ball and cup seemed to be the challenge of the day. The young lady in charge of the table pretty much had to learn on the cuff how to work the toys, but she got into the spirit of the evening quite quickly. As for storytelling - it was a rewarding evening. While the children wore themselves out some of the adults would wander through, and would listen. Once gentleman thanked me and said he wish his two grown daughters were in the country to hear the tales. Later, as the food was eaten, and the sky was shading to evening the children settled to hear the tales; along with some parents. One little girl, and another little boy, happily kept begging for more stories (which did my heart good), and we pretty much closed the festival. The best words I could have heard was from one little girl, "I want to hear you again." Not only was the evening rewarding for a storyteller - it was a magical evening. I watched as people slowed down, and chatted together over dinner. Then came to play ring toss with their children, and got down to play marbles. Even if they were making up the game - they had grand fun. It was truly a evening of community spirit! The next day my friend, Amanda, and I drove out to Clayville for their 4th of July Celebration. The day was much warmer, and more humid, but mercifully that didn't lessen anyone's enthusiasm. I was shown to the same cabin I had performed in for the Spring festival; the Battenington Cabin. This time the main focus of the celebration was the car show so many of the people were there for the car show, and didn't really linger for tales. But it was still a great day. Many a person wandered in with their own tales and memories of Clayville's past.
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In John Mack Faragher's, _Sugar Creek_, he mentions that "pioneer" comes from the French term, "pionnier," which signified foot soldiers sent ahead of an army to clear the way. And later the westward moving pioneers are compared to nomadic bands.
Over the last month I have been given the opportunity to ponder about those pioneers, and about the blessings and curses that come with that drive. And I will apologize now, since I am trying to weave many memories, thoughts, and events in order to make up for my silence. I fear that there might be some tangles along the way. The comparison with a nomadic tribe does not stretch far when it comes to the american pioneers; whereas nomads follow ancient routes in a cycle that is a rhythm in their lives the pioneers were going from one place to another - in hopes of a better place just over the hill. And that was whether they came from across the ocean, or the next state. And I will not retell the whole of history, which would recount how they dislodged other peoples in their course. Though that too has had its own pattern through the millennia. Early in May one of the Chamber of Commerce directors was kind enough to invite me to attend the Governor's Prayer Breakfast, which I greatly appreciated. I had never been before, and this one in particular sounded like it would be worth going to, since the main speaker was to be Paul Rusesabagina, about whom the move “Hotel Rwanda" was made. Unfortunately, Mr. Rusesabagina needed emergency surgery, and Mr. Endless, the senior advisor to his foundation spoke in his stead. Even told by another Mr. Ruseasabagina's story is a moving example of how conviction and a great heart can stand against unreasoning hatred. Mr. Endless said that one tool that Mr. Rusesabagina used was to keep asking questions - so his advisories had to enter into conversation with him. To deal with him as a another individual. And as I listened I realized that Rwanda is a modern (unfortunately one of many) example of what happens when two peoples are thrown together, and differences stirred to an explosive, brutal, point. And somewhere in the back of my mind I heard echo the last line of Dan Keding's story, "The Two Warriors," which ends with, ".. you cannot hate someone when you know their story." A morning to humble one, and make you wonder if you could have such conviction and heart. And all I could hope is that I could use my gift of story to help in some small way. As the month wended on I spent a wet and chill day at the St. Andrews' Highland Games in Chatham, Il. As someone said, "we've imported the weather again." And chill and wet we may have been, but the sense of companionship held us in good stead, and the Games went on. And between tales, wrapped in my plaid, I had the fun of speaking with many people who are seeking the trail of their ancestors - seeking back to when their various families were the wanderers seeking a glowing home. With the ending of the month came the Clayville Spring Festival, and there was awakened the spirits of those long gone settlers as all of the volunteers poured out their love and energy to put on a spectacular 2 and half day event. I was only able to be there on Saturday, and a hot Saturday it was. I went out with a friend who was volunteering, and was soon settled in a cabin to tell my tales. For this day I was dressed in a civil war era gown (with hoops), and soon discovered the challenge of sitting in a chair with arms. And the greater challenge of telling while trying to keep the front of the hoop from flying up. It was a wonderful day, with such a powerful sense of community. And the visitors were a gracious and attentive audience - whether it was the 80 year old man who had come to reminisce about when Dr. Preston had the cabins moved, or a 6 year old girl. The end of the day also offered a chance for a little adventure as I took a ride in a real stagecoach. The first adventure was just trying to in (now in modern clothing) as I tried to balance on the toe pad for the last lunge. We only went around Clayville at a walk, but that was enough to bounce my teeth up into my nose, and threaten to bounce my head up into the ceiling. My salute to all those ancestors who traveled by stagecoach. They were indeed far heartier than I. Journeys are interesting, even if the journey is a short one. Last Wednesday I set out for a show in Hillsboro, where I would be telling at a church for their Mother/Child banquet.
It was a pleasant afternoon, with the temperature just right and the sun shining, but not even this alleviated my nervousness in the drive, and as I started out onto the highway I realized it had been years I had needed to drive 65 miles an hour. Now I should explain I have never been one to drive for pleasure, and particularly not one who relaxes on a long drive. So it is a rarity, though I am not terrified by it to the point of inability to function. As mentioned, the day was pleasant, and fortunately I was traveling at a time when traffic wasn't heavy. Plus I had good maps. So I was able to appreciate that gradual change in landscape as I headed further south, and saw the gradual rise of hills. And it really didn't seem an hour before I entered Hillsboro, and soon saw the church parking lot. The theme was "The Seeds of Kindness," which the ladies of the church were indeed practicing that evening as they invited me to join them for dinner. And a very good dinner indeed - as one of their relations is a trained chef. Nor could I have asked for a better audience as even the youngest girls settled down, and the audience was attentive through my half hour show. And as I told I realized I had the right stories for the night - each emphasizing some kindness. One was the Chinese story, "The Magic Tapestry," another was the Scottish story, "The Stolen Bairn," and the third was the Japanese story, "The Fox Wife." And later I realized that the three stories also emphasized something else - female determination and creativity. The first begins with the old widow weaving for three years after she has fallen in love with a water colored painting that she was wishes to create in thread. The mother of the stolen bairn must create two items that the Sidhe have not seen before. And the wife in the "Fox wife" must be recognized for what she truly is - fox and woman. All were well received, and it was a supporative group that offered praise at the end of the evening. It helped to fuel me for the long drive home. And though I did get lost (and wish for a GPS unit) it was still good - I even saw a doe grazing by the side of the road as I came back into town. She looked up at me, gazed a while, and went back to eating as I passed. A gentle sign and closing for the end of my evening's journey. I never thought I would say that catching cold would be worth it, but in this rare occasion I would have to say that is the case.
A few weeks back I learned that there was going to be a "Christmas at Clayville" event, and was delighted to learn that they would like to have a storyteller. What made this so important, and why I was happy to volunteer for it, was that historical Clayville has literally been "risen from the dead" after years of neglect. (For more on this remarkable storyt go to :http://www.pleasantplainsil.org/ClayvilleNews.html.) And in truth the planners didn't think this even would happen till next year, but by some miracle they pulled it off beautifully. The restored buildings were decorated by several high school groups, and looked lovely. When I arrived I was shown to their one working fireplace in the main inn(Clayville having been a stagecoach stop at one point), and presented with a restored rocking chair. It was from there that I performed such stories as "The Bear Trainer and his Cat," and "The Christmas Spider." (All the while grateful that my civil war dress could fit over heavy clothes, and tha a friend had brought me a blanket, since there was no other heat.) But it was also there that I heard the stories of the volunteers, and of the descendants of those involved with Clayville's long history, and of the plans for the future. And also got to be a small part of the joy that filled that room as the volunteers realized a dream come true. Cold or no cold I wouldn't have missed it for all the world. It was indeed a rare Christmas gift. |
Cathy Mosley
I am a Springfield, IL based storyteller with a fascination for how folklore travels, and for history. Archives
November 2014
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