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The Spider & The Fly – Storytelling for Everyone

Storytelling Poem

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “You’re witty and you’re wise!
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

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Author: Mary Howitt (née Mary Botham) was from Gloucestershire. She married William Howitt, a fellow writer and Quaker, at 21 years old. The couple were prolific writers, publishing over 180 books together. They moved to London in 1843 and were friends with a number of famous literary figures including Charles Dickens, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and William and Dorothy Wordsworth.

Mary Howitt also published many works independently of her husband, the most famous being the 1829 poem The Spider and The Fly. This poem contains one of the most widely-known opening lines in English poetry. In the 1840s she lived in Germany and worked as a translator for Hans Christian Andersen, the famous fairy tale author.

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Filipino Folktales – Storytelling for Everyone

How the Moon and Stars Came to Be

One day in the times when the sky was close to the ground a spinster went out to pound rice. Before she began her work, she took off the beads from around her neck and the comb from her hair, and hung them on the sky, which at that time looked like coral rock.

Then she began working, and each time that she raised her pestle into the air it struck the sky. For some time she pounded the rice, and then she raised the pestle so high that it struck the sky very hard.

Immediately the sky began to rise, and it went up so far that she lost her ornaments. Never did they come down, for the comb became the moon and the beads are the stars that are scattered about.

The Sun and the Moon

Once the Sun and the Moon quarreled with each other, and the Sun said:

“You are only the Moon and are not much good. If I did not give you light, you would be no good at all.”

But the Moon answered:

“You are only the Sun, and you are very hot. The women like me better, for when I shine at night, they go outdoors and spin.”

These words of the Moon made the Sun so angry that he threw sand in her face, and you can still see the dark spots on the face of the Moon.

The Man with the Cocoanuts

One day a man who had been to gather his cocoanuts loaded his horse heavily with the fruit. On the way home he met a boy whom he asked how long it would take to reach the house.

“If you go slowly,” said the boy, looking at the load on the horse, “you will arrive very soon; but if you go fast, it will take you all day.”

The man could not believe this strange speech, so he hurried his horse. But the cocoanuts fell off and he had to stop to pick them up. Then he hurried his horse all the more to make up for lost time, but the cocoanuts fell off again. Many times he did this, and it was night when he reached home.

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Source: Philippine Folk Tales by Mabel Cook Cole.  A.C. McClurg & Co., Chicago, 1916.

Art by Dante Hipolito

Author adminPosted on May 31, 2023Categories Animal, Fables, Folktales, NatureTags AAPI, Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage, creation, Filipino, pourquoi tale

Legend of Spanish Moss – Storytelling for Everyone

When I was a young girl, living along the Mississippi Gulf Coast, I was spellbound by the gray Spanish moss in the old oak trees. The moss dangled in massive shapes with an eerie sweep, swaying in the wind. We neighborhood kids who lived along the back road in town used to dare one another to walk through Live Oak Cemetery and lie full length on a grave under the ghostly, moss-laden trees. I’ll never forget lying on the chill, damp earth of a 19th century grave, nestled under its ancient headstone for a full count of one hundred for a double dare.

Back then, I never wondered why it was called “Spanish moss.”

Spanish moss has had a number of different names as various settlers and explorers have encountered the mystical plant. The French called it “Spanish beard” while the Spanish called the plant “French hair.” It has also been known as “graybeard” and “tree hair.” “Spanish moss” derived from the original “Spanish beard” and is the name that has stuck.

There are a few legends that tell how Spanish moss got its name. Here is one of the most-told tales:

Long ago, Spanish pirates used to sail these off these waters in search of other ships to pillage and plunder, and when they were in need, to visit the coast for water and provisions. The most blood thirsty and evil-looking of them all was a pirate captain by the name of Gorez Goz. He was a large man—well over six feet tall, with muscles bulging from his arms that made him look like a giant.

His face was deeply scarred from many battles, and his eyes were black as coal. Because he was a giant of a man, he had a giant beard—some say it grew down to his bulging waist. Like his eyes, it too was black as coal. It was his great pride.

One fine October evening, as Gorez Goz crew was carrying water from the Spanish wells to be taken to the pirate ship, a small group of Cusabo Indians quietly approached. There were three of them—two old men and, standing between them, a beautiful young girl.

They stood motionless, hoping the pirates would not notice their presence. The Cusabo knew the reputation of these men, knew they respected no one and put no value on the life of a Cusabo. They were all evil, but none more so than Gorez Goz.

Just as the three Cusabo began retreating into the trees around the wells, a knife whistled by the head of the oldest Indian and sunk deeply into a tree trunk inches from the old man’s head.

“Hold!” a man cried out. It sounded like thunder. The pirates stopped loading. Great blue herons flew up from their rookery nearby. Deer skittered deeply into the forest. The Cusabo trio didn’t move.

Gorez Goz approached them. It was he who bellowed out the command. Even in the dimming light, the Cusabo could see the evil smile on the pirate captain’s face. He was looking at the young girl. She was fifteen and lovely. Her eyes were like large pools of the richest amber, her beautiful cheeks high, almost austere. Her long black hair sparkled in the twilight.

The pirate captain came close to the girl, his stale breath reeking of rum and garlic. “I want this girl,” he said.

“You cannot,” the oldest man said. “She is my daughter and I am the chief.”

“Not for long,” Gorez said, with a sickening smile, as he pulled out his sword, thinking he would end the old man’s life quickly.

“Wait!” the young girl said quickly. “I have an offer for you,” she said, giving Gorez her best smile. “Spare my father and I will let you chase me. If you catch me I am yours.”

The pirate captain roared with laughter. “Then run my fair maiden!” he said, laughing even louder and watching her go. The rest of the pirates joined in the merriment, but when Gorez Goz turned back to the chief and the maid, they had disappeared.

Gorez Goz cursed but took off after the girl, thinking of what fun he could have. For a big man, he could move fast. He was sure he could catch the girl in moments. He saw her through the trees and began the chase in earnest. The light was dimming quickly so he carried a torch with him to guide his way.

Trailing the girl was easy: a broken twig here, a footprint in the soft forest floor there. It was as if she wanted the ugly pirate to catch her. But the chase soon took its toll on Gorez Goz. He had been at sea for weeks, and all the running started to slow him down. But just as his pace slowed, he heard the girl’s soft voice calling to him from a giant oak tree just ahead.

“Here, up here, you ugly oaf. Climb to me,” the girl sang.

Gorez Goz looked up at the tree. The girl was in the high branches of the massive live oak. The pirate captain’s anger rose; he jumped to a low branch and began his climb. Higher and higher he went, and as he did, the girl climbed higher still. Gorez Goz cursed her under his breath but kept going up and up until he was almost within reach of the young girl.

“I have you now!” the pirate hissed, the tree’s tiny branches at the top of the tree prickling his face.

“No, you ugly toad. I think the tree has you now,” the girl laughed. To the amazement of Gorez Goz, she jumped from the tree. It was only then he noticed the creek below and heard the splash.

Gorez Goz attempted to climb back down the giant oak, but the small branches held him in place. He couldn’t move down. So he decided to follow the girl into the water. It was the only way.

But as he flung his body away from the branches, the branches held tightly to his huge beard and would not let go—would never let him go.

The funny thing is that long after Gorez Goz died, his beard would not stop growing. It continued to spread to all the oak trees along the coast and into the forests. We now call the pirate’s beard, Spanish moss.

And if you don’t believe me, take a piece of moss, remove the grey scales that cover it and you will see the moss itself as a black as coal!

_________________________________

Source: Adapted from a retelling by Michael Segers 

Photo: Live Oaks Cemetery, Pass Christian, Mississippi
Notes: On the October 23, 1851, Mr. Henderson deeded the cemetery to the Wardens and Vestry of Trinity Church on condition that the grounds shall remain for the use of all people and would contain, in addition to the privately-owned lots, “Free Ground for the interment of both white and black.” 
https://www.trinityinthepass.com/live-oak-cemetary-1

The Epic of Gilgamesh – Storytelling for Everyone

Ancient Mesopotamia

Gilgamesh mourns Enkidu

The Epic of Gilgamesh is, perhaps, the oldest written story on Earth. It comes to us from Ancient Sumeria, and was originally written on 12 clay tablets in cunieform script. It is about the adventures of the historical King of Uruk (somewhere between 2750 and 2500 BCE).

Gilgamesh also seems to have been homosexual.

The great love of Gilgamesh’s life was Enkidu, a wild man. Gilgamesh’s mother, a goddess, told him about Enkidu that: “a strong partner shall come to you . . . you shall love him as a wife.” The prostitute Shamhat, after seducing and civilizing Enkidu, told him that he and Gilgamesh “will love one another.”

The epic story begins with the introduction of Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, two-thirds god and one-third human, blessed by the gods with strength, courage and beauty, and the strongest and greatest king who ever existed. The great city of Uruk is also praised for its glory and its strong brick walls.

However, the people of Uruk are not happy, and complain that Gilgamesh is too harsh and abuses his power by sleeping with their women. The goddess of creation, Aruru, creates a mighty wild-man named Enkidu, a rival in strength to Gilgamesh. He lives a natural life with the wild animals, but he soon starts bothering the shepherds and trappers of the area and jostles the animals at the watering hole.

At the request of a trapper, Gilgamesh sends a temple prostitute, Shamhat, to seduce and tame Enkidu and, after six days and seven nights with the harlot, he is no longer just a wild beast who lives with animals. He soon learns the ways of men and is shunned by the animals he used to live with, and the harlot eventually persuades him to come to live in the city.

Meanwhile, Gilgamesh has some strange dreams, which his mother, Ninsun, explains as an indication that a mighty friend will come to him. The newly-civilized Enkidu leaves the wilderness with his consort for the city of Uruk, where he learns to help the local shepherds and trappers in their work.

One day, when Gilgamesh himself comes to a wedding party to sleep with the bride, as is his custom, he finds his way blocked by the mighty Enkidu, who opposes Gilgamesh‘s ego, his treatment of women, and the defamation of the sacred bonds of marriage.

Enkidu and Gilgamesh fight each other and, after a mighty battle, Gilgamesh defeats Enkidu, but breaks off from the fight and spares his life. He also begins to heed what Enkidu has said, and to learn the virtues of mercy and humility, along with courage and nobility.

Both Gilgamesh and Enkidu are transformed for the better through their new-found friendship and have many lessons to learn from each other. In time, they begin to see each other as brothers and become inseparable.

Sometime later, the goddess Ishtar (goddess of love and war, and daughter of the sky-god Anu) makes sexual advances to Gilgamesh, but he rejects her, because of her mistreatment of her previous lovers. The offended Ishtar insists that her father send the “Bull of Heaven” to avenge Gilgamesh’s rejection, threatening to raise the dead if he will not comply.

The beast brings with it a great drought and plague of the land, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu, this time without divine help, slay the beast and offer its heart to Shamash, throwing the bull’s hindquarters in the face of the outraged Ishtar.

The city of Uruk celebrates the great victory, but Enkidu has a bad dream in which the gods decide to punish Enkidu himself for the killing of the Bull of Heaven and Humbaba. He curses the door he made for the gods, and he curses the trapper he met, the harlot he loved and the very day that he became human.

However, he regrets his curses when Shamash speaks from heaven and points out how unfair Enkidu is being. He also points out that Gilgamesh will become but a shadow of his former self if Enkidu were to die.

Nevertheless, the curse takes hold and day after day Enkidu becomes more and more ill. As he dies, he describes his descent into the horrific dark Underworld where the dead wear feathers like birds and eat clay.

Gilgamesh is devasted by Enkidu’s death and offers gifts to the gods, in the hope that he might be allowed to walk beside Enkidu in the Underworld. He orders the people of Uruk, from the lowest farmer to the highest temple priests, to also mourn Enkidu, and orders statues of Enkidu to be built. Gilgamesh is so full of grief and sorrow over his friend that he refuses to leave Enkidu‘s side.

In time, Gilgamesh too dies, and the people of Uruk mourn his passing, knowing that they will never see his like again.

__________________

Sources:

http://www.ancienttexts.org/library/mesopotamian/gilgamesh/

https://simmonslis.libguides.com/QueerMythsAndFolktales/Asia

https://www.ancient-literature.com/other_gilgamesh.html

View at Medium.com

The Winter Spirit – Storytelling for Everyone

Ojibwa Legend

An old man was sitting alone in his wigwam by the side of a frozen stream. It was the close of winter, and his fire was almost out. He appeared very old and very desolate. His locks were white with age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after day passed in solitude, and he heard nothing but the sounds of the tempest, sweeping before it the new-fallen snow.

One day as his fire was just dying, a handsome young man approached and entered his dwelling. His cheeks were red with the blood of youth; his eyes sparkled with life, and a smile played upon his lips. He walked with a light and quick step. His forehead was bound with a wreath of sweet grass, in place of the warrior’s frontlet, and he carried a bunch of flowers in his hand.

“Ah! my son,” said the old man, “I am happy to see you. Come in. Come, tell me of your adventures, and what strange lands you have been to see. Let us pass the night together. I will tell you of my prowess and exploits, and what I can perform. You shall do the same, and we will amuse ourselves.”

He then drew from his sack a curiously-wrought antique pipe, and having filled it with tobacco, rendered mild by an admixture of certain dried leaves, he handed it to his guest. When this ceremony was attended to, they began to speak.

“I blow my breath,” said the old man, “and the streams stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as clear stone.”

“I breathe,” said the young man, “and flowers spring up all over the plains.”

“I shake my locks,” retorted the old man, “and snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the trees at my command, and my breath blows them away. The birds rise from the water and fly to a distant land. The animals hide themselves from the glance of my eye, and the very ground where I walk becomes as hard as flint.”

“I shake my ringlets,” rejoined the young man, “and warm showers of soft rain fall upon the earth. The plants lift up their heads out of the ground like the eyes of children glistening with delight. My voice recalls the birds. The warmth of my breath unlocks the streams. Music fills the groves wherever I walk, and all nature welcomes my approach.”

At length the sun begun to rise. A gentle warmth came over the place. The tongue of the old man became silent. The robin and the blue-bird began to sing on the top of the lodge. The stream began to murmur by the door, and the fragrance of growing herbs and flowers came softly on the vernal breeze.

Daylight fully revealed to the young man the character of his entertainer. When he looked upon him he had the visage of Peboan, the icy, old, Winter-Spirit. Streams began to flow from his eyes. As the sun increased he grew less and less in stature, and presently he had melted completely away.

Nothing remained on the place of his lodge-fire but the mis-kodeed, a small white flower with a pink border, which the young visitor, Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring, placed in the wreath upon his brow, as his first trophy in the North.

___________________________

Source: The Indian Fairy Book: From the Original Legends [Contains 26 Native American folktales] by Cornelius Mathews. Allen Brothers, New York, 1869.

Author adminPosted on December 14, 2022December 14, 2022Categories Folktales, Legends, Nature, SeasonsTags Indigenous people, Native American, Ojibwa, seasons

Frau Holle – Storytelling for Everyone

LEGEND OF A WINTER GODDESS

In some Scandinavian traditions, Frau Holle is known as the feminine spirit of the woods and plants, and was honored as the sacred embodiment of the earth and land itself. She is associated with many of the evergreen plants that appear during the Yule season, especially mistletoe and holly, and is sometimes seen as an aspect of Frigga, wife of Odin. In this theme, she is associated with fertility and rebirth.

In the Norse Eddas, she is described as Hlodyn, and she gives gifts to women at the time of the Winter Solstice, or Jul. She is sometimes associated with winter snowfall as well. It is said that when Frau Holle shakes out her mattresses, white feathers fall to the earth as snow. A feast is held in her honor each winter by many people in the Germanic countries.

GERMAN FOLKTALE

There was once a widow who had two daughters—one of whom was pretty and industrious, while the other was ugly and idle. But she was much fonder of the ugly and idle one, because she was her own daughter; and the other, who was a step-daughter, was obliged to do all the work in the house. Every day the poor girl had to sit by a well, in the highway, and spin and spin till her fingers bled.

Now it happened that one day the shuttle was marked with her blood, so she dipped it in the well, to wash the mark off; but it dropped out of her hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to her step-mother and told of the mishap.

But she scolded her sharply, and was so merciless as to say, “Since you have let the shuttle fall in, you must fetch it out again.”

So the girl went back to the well, and did not know what to do; and in the sorrow of her heart she jumped into the well to get the shuttle. She lost her senses; and when she awoke and came to herself again, she was in a lovely meadow where the sun was shining and many thousands of flowers were growing.

Along this meadow she went, and at last came to a baker’s oven full of bread, and the bread cried out, “Oh, take me out! take me out! or I shall burn; I have been baked a long time!” So she went up to it, and took out all the loaves one after another with the bread-shovel.

After that she went on till she came to a tree covered with apples, which called out to her, “Oh, shake me! shake me! we apples are all ripe!” So she shook the tree till the apples fell like rain, and went on shaking till they were all down, and when she had gathered them into a heap, she went on her way.

At last she came to a little house, out of which an old woman peeped; but she had such large teeth that the girl was frightened, and was about to run away.

But the old woman called out to her, “What are you afraid of, dear child? Stay with me; if you will do all the work in the house properly, you shall be the better for it. Only you must take care to make my bed well, and to shake it thoroughly till the feathers fly—for then there is snow on the earth. I am Mother Holle.”

As the old woman spoke so kindly to her, the girl took courage and agreed to enter her service. She attended to everything to the satisfaction of her mistress, and always shook her bed so vigorously that the feathers flew about like snow-flakes. So she had a pleasant life with her; never an angry word; and boiled or roast meat every day.

She stayed some time with Mother Holle, and then she became sad. At first she did not know what was the matter with her, but found at length that it was homesickness; although she was many times better off here than at home, still she had a longing to be there.

At last she said to the old woman, “I have a longing for home; and however well off I am down here, I cannot stay any longer; I must go up again to my own people.” Mother Holle said, “I am pleased that you long for your home again, and as you have served me so truly, I myself will take you up again.”

Thereupon she took her by the hand, and led her to a large door. The door was opened, and just as the maiden was standing beneath the doorway, a heavy shower of golden rain fell, and all the gold remained sticking to her, so that she was completely covered with it.

“You shall have that because you are so industrious,” said Mother Holle; and at the same time she gave her back the shuttle which she had let fall into the well. Thereupon the door closed, and the maiden found herself up above upon the earth, not far from her mother’s house.

And as she went into the yard the cock cried: “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Your golden girl’s come back to you!”

So she went in to her mother, and as she arrived thus covered with gold, she was well received, both by her and her sister.

The girl told all that had happened to her; and as soon as the mother heard how she had come by so much wealth, she was very anxious to obtain the same good luck for the ugly and lazy daughter.

She had to seat herself by the well and spin; and in order that her shuttle might be stained with blood, she stuck her hand into a thorn-bush and pricked her finger. Then she threw her shuttle into the well, and jumped in after it.

She came, like the other, to the beautiful meadow and walked along the very same path. When she got to the oven the bread again cried, “Oh, take me out! take me out! or I shall burn; I have been baked a long time!” But the lazy thing answered, “As if I had any wish to make myself dirty!” and on she went.

Soon she came to the apple-tree, which cried, “Oh, shake me! shake me! we apples are all ripe!” But she answered, “I like that! one of you might fall on my head,” and so went on.

When she came to Mother Holle’s house she was not afraid, for she had already heard of her big teeth, and she hired herself to her immediately.

The first day she forced herself to work diligently, and obeyed Mother Holle when she told her to do anything, for she was thinking of all the gold that she would give her. But on the second day she began to be lazy, and on the third day still more so, and then she would not get up in the morning at all.

Neither did she make Mother Holle’s bed as she ought, and did not shake it so as to make the feathers fly up. Mother Holle was soon tired of this, and gave her notice to leave. The lazy girl was willing enough to go, and thought that now the golden rain would come.

Mother Holle led her, too, to the great door; but while she was standing beneath it, instead of the gold a big kettleful of pitch was emptied over her. “That is the reward of your service,” said Mother Holle, and shut the door.

So the lazy girl went home; but she was quite covered with pitch, and the cock by the well-side, as soon as he saw her, cried: “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Your pitchy girl’s come back to you.” But the pitch stuck fast to her, and could not be got off as long as she lived.

________________________

Source: Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm. Household tales by the Brothers Grimm. Translated by Margaret Hunt. George Bell and Sons, London, 1884.

Three Wishes – Storytelling for Everyone

English Folktale

 

Once there lived a poor woodsman in a great forest, and every day of his life he went out to fell timber. One day he started out, and the goodwife filled the pack he slung on his back that he might have meat and drink in the forest.

He went deeper into the forest than he’d ever gone before and there he found a huge, great oak tree.

“Ah, that one will give me many planks of wood.”

He took his axe in his hand and swung it round his head as though he were minded to fell the tree at one stroke. But he hadn’t given one blow, when what should he hear but the pitifullest entreating, and there stood before him a fairy who prayed and beseeched him to spare the tree. It was her home.

He was dazed, as you may fancy, with wonderment and fear, and he couldn’t open his mouth to utter a word. But he found his tongue at last, and said, “Well, I’ll do as thou wish.”

“You’ve done better for yourself than you know,” answered the fairy, “and to show I’m grateful, I’ll grant you your next three wishes, be they what they may.”

The fairy was no more to be seen, and the woodsman slung his pack over his shoulder and off he started home.

But the way was long, and the poor man was dazed with the wonderful thing that had befallen him, and when he got home there was nothing in his noddle, but to rest. Maybe, too, ‘t was a trick of the fairy’s. Who can tell?

Anyhow down he sat by the blazing fire, and as he sat he became hungry, though it was a long way off supper-time yet.

“Hasn’t thou naught for supper?” said he to his wife.

“Nay, not for a couple of hours yet,” said she.

“Ah!” groaned the woodsman, “I wish I’d a good link of sausage here before me.”

No sooner had he said the word, when clatter, clatter, rustle, rustle—what should come down the chimney but a link of the finest sausage.

If the woodsman stared, the goodwife stared three times as much. “What’s all this?” says she.

Then all the morning’s work came back to the woodsman, and he told his tale right out, from beginning to end, and as he told it the goodwife glowered and glowered, and when he had made an end of it she burst out.

“Thou bee’st but a fool, Jan, thou bee’st but a fool; you wasted a wish on somethin’ stupid. I wish the sausage were at the end of your nose.”

And before you could say Jack Robinson, the sausage hung at the end of his nose.

He gave a pull but it stuck, and she gave a pull but it stuck, and they both pulled till they had nigh pulled his nose off, but it stuck and stuck.

“‘T’isn’t so very unsightly,” said she, looking hard at him.

Then the woodsman saw that if he wished, he must need wish in a hurry; and wish he did, that the sausage might come off his nose. Well! There it lay in a plate on the table.

And if the goodman and goodwife didn’t ride in a golden coach, or dress in silk and satin, why, they had at least as fine a sausage for their supper as the heart of man could want.

__________________________

Source: More English Fairy Tales, collected and edited by Joseph Jacobs. G.P. Putnam’s Sons, New York and London, 1894.

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Unseen Folklore of Dia de los Muertos – Storytelling for Everyone

By Bailey White

When I was involved in my high school’s Spanish club, our biggest event was the Dia de los Muertos celebration. Dia de los Muertos, or better known as Day of the Dead, gave us an opportunity to prepare Mexican food, decorate the school, and dress up in colorful Hispanic garb. To my unintentionally ignorant peers, Dia de los Muertos was just seen as two celebration-filled days that honor deceased family members and friends in Hispanic culture.

What my schoolmates did not know was that underneath all the celebrations and festivities that occur during Dia de los Muertos, there are several underlying messages that Latin Americans have been trying to convey for thousands of years. Through the celebration of death, Hispanics have discovered what life is really about: family, equality, and tradition.

Despite Dia de los Muertos primarily being a commemoration for deceased loved ones, the underlying folklore of the holiday cherishes diversity and unification through traditions, such as ofrendas.

In Hispanic culture, family is one of the most important and cherished aspects of life. Being from a large Hispanic family myself, I can attest to the notion that we will find any reason to commemorate a living family member or ancestor. Family is so extremely valued and honored in Latin American culture that death makes our relationships with each other even stronger.

This inseparable bond of loved ones through life and death is what spurred one of the most iconic traditions of Dia de los Muertos: ofrendas. Ofrendas are elaborate, vibrant altars that often boast large arches and offerings that honor a passing of a loved one.

The four elements of the Earth are an essential tradition of an ofrenda:

Water is served in a clay pitcher or glass to quench the spirit’s thirst from their long journey. Fire is signified by the candles that are lit. Wind is signified by papel picado (tissue paper cut-outs). The earth element is represented by food, usually pan de muerto (bread of the dead). Alongside the Earth elements, friends and family shower spirits with memorable photographs, incense, fruit, assorted flowers, and personal items. All of these offerings contribute to the overall goal of honoring loved ones and sending the simple message of: I will love you and remember you always.

This loving tradition began ages ago; it first dates back to the Mesoamerican times, when the Aztecs believed that once the physical body died, the soul would continue to live in another realm of the universe. In those days, many would use ofrendas to summon back ancestors’ souls and lead them back home. Due to colonization of what is now modern-day Mexico and the European influence on the Aztec culture, the altar’s purpose has changed radically, but the main idea has not.

Ofrendas and the celebration of Dia de los Muertos is one of the few Mesoamerican traditions that successfully slipped through the cracks of the Spaniard’s religious control of Mexico. Although the Spaniards learned to understand the tradition of the ofrendas, many cultures are still unaware of their purpose today.

In order to dig deeper into the misconceptions of ofrendas, I used qualitative research techniques to understand others’ opinions on this holiday more thoroughly.

I interviewed Mexico native and old friend, Majo Rodriguez, on how Americans view traditional ofrendas. “In modern day Mexico, ofrendas are used as a way to say ‘We miss you dearly.’ But people who do not celebrate Dia de los Muertos misread it as us trying to summon spirits and see if they will eat the food that is displayed on the altars. Many I have encountered have it all wrong.”

Despite what other cultures may think, this ancient tradition is a way to bring families closer, and honor those who have passed on. The core of the ofrenda is to remember those who are important to you, and that family is one of nature’s greatest blessings.

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Source: White, Bailey, “The Unseen Folklore of Dia de los Muertos” (2018). Jessie O’Kelly Freshman Essay Award. 1. https://scholarworks.uark.edu/englfea/1

This Essay is brought to you for free and open access by the English at ScholarWorks@UARK. It has been accepted for inclusion in Jessie O’Kelly Freshman Essay Award by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks@UARK.

Author adminPosted on November 1, 2021November 1, 2021Categories Folktales, History, Legends, Personal Story, SeasonsTags Aztec, Dia de los Muertos, hispanic, Latinx, Mexico

Alconquin Cinderella – Storytelling for Everyone

Art by Michael Hague

Once there was a great warrior named Strong Wind. He lived with his sister in a tent on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. Strong Wind had an amazing power. He was able to make himself invisible. His sister could see him, but no one else could. He said he would marry the first woman who could see him as he came home at the end of the day.

Many women came to the tent to watch for him. When his sister saw him coming, she would ask, ‘Do you see him?’

Each girl would answer, ’Oh, yes! I see him!’

Then Strong Wind’s sister would ask, ‘What is he pulling his sled with?’

And the girl would answer, ‘with a rope’ or ‘with a wooden pole.’

Then Strong Wind’s sister would know that they were lying, because their guesses were wrong. Many tried and lied and failed. For Strong Wind would not marry anyone who was untruthful.

A chief lived in the village. His wife had died, but he had three daughters. One was much younger than the other two. She was gentle and kind and beautiful, but her sisters were jealous of her and treated her badly.

They cut off her long black hair and they made her wear rags. They also burned her face with coals from the fire to make her look ugly. And they lied to their father and said that she had done these things to herself. But she remained kind and gentle and went about her work with a patient heart.

The two older sisters also went to try and see Strong Wind. When he was coming Strong Wind’s sister asked them, ‘Do you see him?’

Oh, yes! I see him!’ each of them answered.

‘What is his bow made out of?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘Out of iron,’ answered one. ‘Out of strong wood,’ answered the other.

‘You have not seen him,’ said Strong Wind’s sister

Strong Wind himself heard them and knew that they had lied. They went into the tent, but still they could not see him. They went home very disappointed.

One day the youngest daughter went to try and see Strong Wind. She was wearing rags, and her face was covered in burns. As she went along the road, people pointed and laughed at her, but still she continued on her way. When she came to Strong Wind’s tent she waited.

When Strong Wind was coming, his sister asked the girl, ‘Do you see him?’

‘No,’ the girl answered. ‘I do not see him.’

Strong Wind’s sister was surprised because the girl had told the truth.

‘Now do you see him?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘Yes,’ answered the girl. ‘Now I do see him. He is magnificent.’

‘What is his bow made of?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘The rainbow,’ answered the girl.

‘And what is the bowstring made of?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘Of stars,’ answered the girl.

Then Strong Wind’s sister knew that the girl could really see him. He had let her see him because she had told the truth.

‘You really have seen him,’ said Strong Wind’s sister. Then the sister bathed the girl in a sacred spring, and all the burns went away. Her hair grew long and black again. The sister dressed the girl in fine clothes. Strong Wind came to the teepee and greeted his wife.

The girls’ two older sisters were very angry, but Strong Wind turned them into aspen trees. Ever since that day, the leaves of the aspen tree tremble with fear whenever the wind comes near, because they know he will never forget their cruelty.

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Sources: Legends of the Micmacs, by Silas Rand, Longmans, New York and London, 1894; and The Algonquin Legends of New England, by Charles Leland, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, 1884. (Rand’s manuscript, though published later, was the basis for Leland’s version.) Background on the Micmacs came from The Micmac Indians of Eastern Canada, by Wilson and Ruth Wallis, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, 1955.

Note: This tale was popular in many Native American tribes with languages in the Algonquian family. The variant here comes from the Mi’kmaq (or Micmac) tribe of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island, Canada, and was recorded in Nova Scotia.

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Aesop’s Fables – Storytelling for Everyone

We all know about Aesop’s Fables. They are the delightful and instructive stories told by a former Greek slave in the 6th century BCE, and are the world’s best known collection of morality tales. Handed down by word of mouth for centuries, there are 725 fables now in print translated from the Greek.

But do we know about Aesop? Aesop was the Black slave of a man named Ladmon, and lived in the south of Greece near northern Africa. Most accounts describe Aesop as a deformed man whose name came from the Greek word Aethiops which means Ethiopia. He was named for his place of origin. According to Herodotus, Aesop was eventually freed by his master due to Aesop’s captivating talent as a storyteller.

Aesop’s ancient fables are allegorical myths often portraying animals or insects: foxes, grasshoppers, frogs, cats, dogs, ants, crabs, stags, and monkeys representing humans engaged in human-like situations to teach a moral.

Here are a few Aesop’s Fables from the classic, 19th century English translation by George Townsend.

What is your favorite Aesop Fable?

The Hare and the Tortoise

A HARE one day ridiculed the short feet and slow pace of the Tortoise, who replied, laughing: “Though you be swift as the wind, I will beat you in a race.” The Hare, believing her assertion to be simply impossible, assented to the proposal; and they agreed that the Fox should choose the course and fix the goal. On the day appointed for the race the two started together. The Tortoise never for a moment stopped, but went on with a slow but steady pace straight to the end of the course. The Hare, lying down by the wayside, fell fast asleep. At last waking up, and moving as fast as he could, he saw the Tortoise had reached the goal, and was comfortably dozing after her fatigue.

Slow but steady wins the race.

The Flies and the Honey-Pot

A NUMBER of Flies were attracted to a jar of honey which had been overturned in a housekeeper’s room, and placing their feet in it, ate greedily. Their feet, however, became so smeared with the honey that they could not use their wings, nor release themselves, and were suffocated. Just as they were expiring, they exclaimed, “O foolish creatures that we are, for the sake of a little pleasure we have destroyed ourselves.”

Pleasure bought with pains, hurts.

The Boy and the Filberts

A BOY put his hand into a pitcher full of filberts. He grasped as many as he could possibly hold, but when he tried to pull out his hand, he was prevented from doing so by the neck of the pitcher. Unwilling to lose his filberts, and yet unable to withdraw his hand, he burst into tears and bitterly lamented his disappointment. A bystander said to him, “Be satisfied with half the quantity, and you will readily draw out your hand.”

Do not attempt too much at once.

The Boy and the Nettles

A BOY was stung by a Nettle. He ran home and told his Mother, saying, “Although it hurts me very much, I only touched it gently.” “That was just why it stung you,” said his Mother. “The next time you touch a Nettle, grasp it boldly, and it will be soft as silk to your hand, and not in the least hurt you.”

Whatever you do, do with all your might.

Source: George Fyler Townsend (translator) Three Hundred Æsop’s Fables, London: George Routledge & Sons (1867).

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