West Side Storytellers Stories from the Heart of Arizona

July 2017 Volume 30, Issue 18

Celebrating July Fourth Who needs fireworks when there’s ice cream? By Sherry Monahan for True West Magazine (to subscribe visit truewestmagazine.com)

“The Fourth of July will remind an American of his home wher-ever he may be or however far he may be separated from it.”

“Early in the morning we fired several rounds, and made as much noise as possible in honor of the day of Independence. We started in the morning and soon passed an encampment where we had the pleasure of beholding the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ float-ing in the cool breeze,” noted Kimball Webster, a 21-year-old New Hampshire farmer who had begun his overland journey to California in April 1849. Fourth of July celebrations in the Old West were often kicked off with a parade. Orations by city officials and locals followed, and the reading of the Declaration of Independence was a fea-tured highlight. Most businesses closed, people decorated with red, white and blue, and they proudly displayed Old Glory. Fes-tivities, including races, swimming competitions, baseball games, band music, evening fireworks and picnics, filled the day. What you ate depended on where you lived and what you could get your hands on. One delicacy most people enjoyed was ice cream. A report from the Moberly Weekly Monitor in Mis-souri noted this about the city’s 1899 celebration, “By 8 o’clock the park was crowded, and while the Bachelors band played sweetly, the crowd watched the fireworks, ate ice cream and had a good time all around.” Many had picnics, barbecues and French suppers, while oth-ers were more reserved, like folks in Carroll, Iowa, in 1900. The Cedar Rapids Evening Gazette reported, “Carroll citizens are people of quiet tastes and will spend the Fourth of July at home, reading the Declaration of Independence, drinking lemon-ade in the shade, and helping the youngsters with their fireworks in evening.” In 1886, Tombstone, Arizona, celebrated the Fourth as store owners draped their buildings with patriotic bunting or simply sported Old Glory. The Comet Saloon erected a shade platform for those wanting to dance outside. Citizens enjoyed horse races at Doling’s track and the beautiful patriotic display of fireworks in front of the Elite Theatre (a.k.a. Bird Cage). Before the fire-works, a hot air balloon ascended. Tombstone’s swimming pool was also re-opened on the Fourth. In addition to offering new bathing suits, the pool operators opened a first-class bar at the bathhouse. The Salt Lake Herald announced the town’s 1898 Fourth of July celebration with this report: “…one of the biggest of the many big things that prime favorite of resorts has ever had…. Every department down to the popcorn venders [sic] did an enor-mous trade.” A few years before that, in 1892, Salt Lake’s Saddle Rock restaurant offered a fine Fourth of July menu. The bill of fare included chicken, duck, turkey, roast beef, straw-berry shortcake and, of course, ice cream.

Sherry’s Recipe for Strawberry Ice Cream appears on Page 2.

I t seems like the sky is a lighter shade of blue in the summer. Maybe it’s the heat that makes it seem so, but it is a lovely

light, light blue so different from the dark blue of autumn. It always makes me think about the beach. I never saw the ocean until I was seventeen, and I couldn’t believe what a beautiful, powerful and compelling thing the ocean was. I stood on that California beach and fell in love. I’m a summer baby with a birthday in July, and a water sign according to astrological charts (yes, a crab!), so I suppose it came naturally to me. Now I long for the sound and smell of the beach sometimes, like a longing to go back home. One of the best vacations I ever took was with my best friend, and we drove straight to the coast in San Diego and then up Highway 1 until we had to go inland in Washington. We continued on and ultimately went up into Canada. That stretch of America has some of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. Big Sur is a wild and magical place that Lon and I have returned to. (We spent a happy evening in a mo-tel room there overlooking the ocean, where there were no res-taurants open and we foraged dinner from a mini-mart. Our gleanings included string cheese and some fruit, yogurt, crackers and nuts. An amazing bounty, really, all things considered.) At Jenner where the Russian River runs into the ocean we stayed in a room on a high bluff that looked out at the river delta. There at the edge of Sonoma county the wonderful wines we tasted became part of the texture of the trip. The further we drove the more magical the coast seemed to become, and we met magical people there too. Artists of every stripe and people who had the clear-eyed look of distant vision. Later I heard Linda Ronstadt sing Talk To Me Of Mendocino and it brought it all back (follow this link to hear the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xaH9BnuGH68). Up in Oregon where the pine trees run right out to the cliffs that drop off to the ocean was another kind of beauty. I have a memory of looking out of the window of a motel room in Port-land and down below on the corner, a Volkswagen Beetle with Arizona plates stopped to pick up a hitchhiker in the pouring rain. By the time we reached Astoria at the mouth of the Colum-bia River we were in love with the whole coast. At Sedro-Woolley, Washington, we arrived just in time to watch a 4th of July parade that included the “Logging Queen” and her court sitting on a semi-truck filled with logs! That small-town parade has stayed with me all these years, and I think about it when the 4th rolls around. Our trip ended in the craziest way imaginable with the car breaking down just south of the Canadian border in Montana, and a friend driving all the way from Arizona to rescue us, but that’s a story for another time . . . I hope you’ll enjoy the stories about the ocean and the beach, and the creatures that inhabit both, in this issue of the WSST news. The Storytellers Kitchen features food stories about the

4th of July, what kinds of foods there were in Deadwood back in the day, and a recipe for ice cream from 1884. Mark is back from his big ad-venture with a new column too. Andy

The Storyteller’s Kitchen

July 2017

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July 4th Food History: Smithsonian Shares Secrets Of Independence Day Favorites by Erin Ruberry

Happy Independence Day! As you sit down to a July 4th meal, have you ever given any thought to where those foods come from?

Experts at the Smithsonian Institution did, and they shared their findings in a recent blog post.

Hamburgers and hot dogs may seem all-American but pigs and cattle were brought to the New World by Spanish explorers; as Texas Parks and Wildlife notes, “As colonization increased, hog numbers subsequently increased. They provided an impor-tant source of cured meat and lard for settlers.” According to the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council, Americans will eat 150 million hot dogs over the Fourth of July holiday.

Fourth of July Dining in D.C. On the other side of the plate, tomatoes and potatoes have been a perfect pairing for centuries. As early as 1781, Thomas Jefferson served French-fried potatoes with tomatoes at Monticello; today, the average American consumes 142 pounds of potatoes and three bottles of ketchup a year. As for that bun you’re eating, wheat didn’t come to the New World until Christopher Columbus sailed across the seas in 1492. Jefferson aside, America’s founding fathers enjoyed July 4th foods that aren’t seen on most dinner tables today. John Adams, for instance, was a fan of turtle soup: “According to legend, on July 4, 1776, John Adams — who fought for independence and eventually because the second President of the United States — and his wife, Abigail, sat down for a celebratory meal of turtle soup, New England poached salmon with egg sauce, green peas, and boiled new potatoes in jackets. They followed the meal with Indian pudding or Apple Pandowdy.” What was served at the first Independence Day celebration? No one knows for sure but a Philadelphia chef told ABC News “the menu likely would have been based on the recipes of British culinary authority Hannah Glasse.” Glasse’s July menu suggests the signers of the Declaration would have supped on roast turkey and fricasseed rabbit, pigeon, crawfish and lobsters. There would have been tongue and turnips and lamb testicles. And for dessert, apricot tarts and roasted ap-ples, plums, jellies and custards. (from Huffintonpost.com)

Strawberry Ice Cream Colorado Transcript (Golden, Jefferson County) Wednesday, August 27, 1884 Since ice cream was, and still is, a July Fourth favorite, try mak-ing this cool summer treat for your celebration:

1 cup sugar 3 cup cream 1⁄2 tsp. cornstarch 1 egg, beaten well 1⁄2 tsp. vanilla 1 cup strawberries, pureed

Heat sugar, cream, cornstarch and egg in a large saucepan over very low heat. Stir to combine, and cook until cornstarch has dissolved, but do not let simmer. Add the strawberry puree and vanilla, and allow to cool. Freeze according to ice cream machine instructions. Makes 2 quarts.

Food For Thought (Book Review from NPR’s The Salt)

The American Plate A Culinary History in 100 Bites by Libby H. O'connell Hardcover, 330 pages

Apple pie isn't American in the way people often mean. Every ingredient, from apples to butter to nutmeg and cinnamon, came from somewhere else. But then, so do most Americans. A new book traces the roots of American tastes from pemmican to Coca-Cola to what are now called "molecularly modified" foods. Libby O'Connell, the chief historian and a senior vice president for the History Channel and A&E networks, wrote The American Plate: A Culinary History in 100 Bites. "My goal is to tell the story of American history through food," she tells Weekend Edition's Scott Simon. "Each food has a story of its own." Pemmican, the fancy name for jerky, can be found in gas stations across America. But "it's an authentic food that is indige-nous to the New World," says O'Connell. As a snack food, it's highly nourishing and drying was a great way to preserve food. Macaroni also has colonial roots. We often think of Thomas Jefferson as a man who brought an elevated appreciation for food and wine to a young America. But he also popularized the favor-ite pasta of children everywhere. "He brought in macaroni from his travels in Europe and liked to eat it with the cheese sauce," says O'Connell. There's also the famous song "Yankee Doodle Dandee" and the line: "Stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni." As for shoofly pie, the classic Amish dessert, the name comes from the fact that "a fly could get stuck in it," she says. Made of molasses and flour and maybe a few nuts, the pie attracted flies particularly in the days before doors and windows had screens. Growing up in Pennsylvania, O'Connell remembers it being served in her lunchroom cafeteria. An overarching theme in her book is how foreign foods came to be embraced by Americans. Once upon a time, spaghetti was a garlic-heavy Italian food, she says. "There was a time in the late 19th century, those intense Italian flavors were scoffed at by peo-ple who had arrived in the U.S. a generation before the Italians," she explains. "The distaste toward foreign foods from immigrant groups is a tradition in this country." While the recipe for Coca-Cola has changed, the loopy font is still the same as it was in this ad from 1939. Says O'Connell: "The original Coca-Cola script that you see ... a friend of [the pharmacist who invented it] designed that script and the Coca-Cola company still uses it." Within a generation, Americans started saying Italian food was great. However, the big meatballs being served in the U.S. were not actually Italian — they didn't have the same meat. Salsa has also come a long way — it's been one of the most popular condiments in America since 1992. "It's fascinating that salsa outsells ketchup until you realize two things ... the families that are buying salsa are the same families that are buying ketchup ... and secondly think of how you consume ketchup." It

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Dinner in Deadwood with Calamity Jane Food adventures in the frontierswoman’s Dakota Territory hangout.

By Sherry Monahan for True West (to subscribe visit truewestmagazine.com)

Left, Martha Canary toasts her beer to Dead-wood, the Dakota Territory boomtown that welcomed her arrival on July 15, 1876, with the Black Hills Pioneer headline “Calamity Jane has arrived.” – True West Archives –

I n the fall of 1875, a makeshift tent town popped up, beginning a stampede to Dead-

wood Gulch. By the winter of 1876, the population of this Dakota Territory boom-town swelled to about 10,000. The pioneers

who resided in Deadwood did so illegally because the govern-ment had given this land to the Lakotas in the Fort Laramie Treaty. That didn’t stop excited fortune seeker Martha “Calamity Jane” Canary. Because of their mountainous location, Calamity Jane and her fellow residents benefited from local fish and game, as well as having food shipped in. Local farmers supplied residents and merchants with chickens, pigs, potatoes, turnips, cabbages, eggs and butter. When Calamity Jane walked the streets of Deadwood, she would have enjoyed the aromas of restaurants, bakeries and con-fectionery shops. Morgan & Eggots sold breads, pies, cakes, teas, coffees, chocolates, milk, oysters, hams and eggs at all hours on Main Street. The Vienna bakery sold breads, pies, fancy cakes, homemade candies and ice cream. And Hilary’s Lee Street Bak-ery advertised fresh baked goods “served to order at all hours of the day;” baker Charles Hilary also made fresh candy and orna-mental cakes for weddings or fancy occasions.

In 1878, the Black Hills Daily Times reported a list of tempting places to dine: “Fifty cents will buy the best meal to be had in town, at Anderson’s Lee street dining-room. Breakfast, dinner, or supper, at any time of the day or night, at Cline’s. All the luxuries of the season at Anderson’s restaurant, gotten up in the most luxurious style. The greatest variety of meats and vegetables af-forded in this market daily at the Grand Central hotel…. Throughout the Lenten season fresh eggs for breakfast, and fish in every variety afforded in this market, at Grand Central hotel.” A businessman entering a restaurant to dine on some delicious fare was “accosted by an individual desiring something to eat,” the Daily Times reported in 1880. His charitable act took on a humorous turn. “He looked like a true object of charity and the business man ordered him to go in, and directed the waiter to give him fifty cents worth of food and charge his ticket. He soon noticed a grin on the waiter’s countenance, when he asked what the man had ordered. ‘Why, he only ordered four glasses of beer.’” By 1881, Mrs. Gardner’s restaurant was featured in the Black Hills Daily Times as “not only patronized during the day by those who seek good, substantial board, but also in the evening by pri-vate parties who may chance to be out to the theatre and other entertainments, or by those who may wish a nice oyster stew. Everything served at this restaurant is intended to be first-class.” Anyone who didn’t want to have a meal in a restaurant could saunter to the saloon. Many offered food for the thirsty souls liv-ing in the gulch. The Export Beer Hall sold five-cent beers with free lunches and sandwiches. Fred Heime gave his patrons Vi-enna sausages, cheese, herring and summer bologna at his Union Park saloon.

Sherry Monahan has penned The Cowboy’s Cookbook, Mrs. Earp: Wives & Lovers of the Earp Brothers; California Vines, Wines & Pioneers; Taste of Tombstone and The Wicked West and Tombstone’s Treasure. She has appeared on Fox News, History Channel and AHC.

Another Kitchen Story from American History . . .

But while the recipe changed, the loopy font is still the same. Says O'Connell: "The original Coca-Cola script that you see ... a friend of his designed that script and the Coca-Cola company still uses it." Coca-Cola has marketed itself as an emblem of American life. "Not only did it have a national campaign very early on, but it followed the American troops wherever they were," she says. It actually built field bottling plants behind the troops during World War I and World War II. Now, there are only two places in the world you can't buy Coca-Cola: Cuba and North Korea. O'Connell does admit she didn't try everything discussed in her book, including beaver tail. "I know that they have that scaliness," she says. For those brave enough to try, she says the tail can be roasted over an open fire to blister the skin of the tail. After cooling, the scales can be scraped off, exposing the fat which will crisp and brown. And how about a wine pairing? "A hearty burgundy," she says.

Food for Thought—The American Plate, continued from page 2

might be a dollop on a hamburger, compared to piling salsa all over your tacos or chips. But overall, O'Connell believes Americans are really open to new food. "Our stomachs are, I think, more open to the world, to different cultures, than almost any place," she says. O'Connell also covers a wide range of meats in her book in-cluding scrapple, a culinary rag-bag of scraps, cornmeal, sage and pepper. "The Pennsylvania Dutch put a lot of ground pepper in it," O'Connell says, who remembers eating it once or twice with plenty of maple syrup. One of O'Connell's most amusing stories features Sylvester Graham, an ordained Presbyterian minister who thought America was full of sin. If everyone ate whole grains and became vegetari-ans, they would become more peaceful and less lustful, he claimed. Therefore he created the popular Graham cracker. (The Graham cracker we have today has much more sugar than the original.) Coca-Cola was originally intended "to be particularly healthy for you if you had an addiction problem," says O'Connell. In-vented by a pharmacist who fought in the Civil War, the drink was made with cocaine and caffeine to help him get rid of his morphine addiction from his war wounds.

The Legend of the Man-Eating Spirits of Ni'ihau

Early Hawaiians were always dependent on nature and the sea-sons for survival. They had to preserve their resources, and so they observed strict hunting and fishing seasons when the men were not allowed to kill animals or catch fish. But when the kapu (prohibition) was lifted, competition was fierce, especially in the case of fishermen, who then had to travel far to find abundant fish to feed their villages. This is the story of five such men; Ekahi, Elua, Ekolu, Eha and Elima. These fishermen were from Kauai, and on one trip they were forced to set out in their canoes to fish off the distant shores of Niihau, an abundant fishing spot. But in ancient times, it was said that man-eating spirits roamed the islands, and remote, uninhabited locations were dangerous, as anyone who ventured there was easy prey for these evil spirits. These five men were just ordinary fishermen, but they made the difficult decision to travel to Niihau in order to find food to feed their community. They fished all day and ended with a good catch. When the sky darkened into evening, they went ashore to Niihau to clean, salt and store their fish. They made a fire and ate some of the fish, and finally they lay down on the warm sand to sleep, for the next day would bring more hard work. When the sun rose, there were only four men. Elima was no-where to be found. At first they panicked, imagining that the spir-its had eaten their companion and that they too were in for the same fate. But Ekahi, the leader of the group calmed them. He said, "Elima has probably gotten up with the sun for some early fishing. He will be waiting for us here when we return with our catch." The four men worked all day and returned late in the evening, but the beach was still empty and there was no sign of Elima. They searched the area to no avail and then waited and waited until the night grew dark and starry. Eventually they fell asleep, lying close together on the beach. The next morning, Eha had disappeared too and the men knew that it was indeed the man-eating sprits that had passed by in the night. Ekolu insisted that they leave this evil place. Ekahi said: "Yes, it is an evil place. But as fishermen, we lead danger-ous lives. We depend on this catch to survive. If we leave now, our village will go hungry. There are only two days left in the season. Let us stay, but we shall sleep in a canoe offshore."

So that night, the three squeezed into one canoe, tak-ing turns to watch the skies as the others slept. Ekahi's watch passed quietly. Then he woke Elua. Elua's watch passed qui-etly as well, and then he woke Ekolu. The next morning, just before sunrise, the men woke to the sound of beating wings and saw poor Ekolu struggling to get out of the hands of a flying, man-eating creature. It was bat-like, with huge staring eyes and a horrible black hole for a mouth. With one gulp their companion disappeared, and the beast flew off into the morning mist. Elua cried out for his friend and cursed the place where they seemed doomed to die. But Ekahi reasoned with him, explaining that if they left now, no fishermen from their village would ever dare to come back, and their families would not have fish. With-out fish, they would starve. He came up with a plan to destroy the evil creatures. The two remaining men did not go out on the water that day. Instead, they toiled on the beach, building a log house. Inside, they placed two wooden images of men that they had carved with wood from the forest. Each image had a pair of eyes made of the gleaming white insides of mussel shells. When they were done, they waited for the evil spirits to come. Evening wore on and the two men, exhausted, fought against sleep. The hours dragged by and eventually they dozed. Sud-denly, they woke to strange sounds close by. The spirits were at the entrance to the house, reluctant to enter. They were sure that the two men were standing, awake, inside the house. They waited and waited hoping that the two men would go to sleep, but their impatience overcame them, and eventually they went inside and attacked the two wooden images. The sprits thought that the men were tough and stringy, and before they had time to realize that they had been tricked, Elua ran up behind and threw a fire torch at them. Then he ran to where Ekahi had the canoe ready on the water and they paddled away quickly. The man-eating spirits were thus destroyed, and the two brave fishermen of Kauai went back to their village with plentiful sup-plies. The fishing grounds of Niihau remain safe to this day.

Hawaiian Myths and Legends

Hawaii is full of myths and legends – stories that are full of passion, betrayal, loyalty, birth and death. According to W.D. Westervelt, one of the most famed re-tellers of Hawaiian myths and legends back in the early 1900s, some of these myths and legends were very similar to the stories told in Tahiti, Samoa, Fiji, New Zealand and other islands in the Pacific Ocean. The knowledge of these ancient myths and legends was passed on from one generation to the next in the form of stories and chants. Here is one example of these legends. To read more legends visit to-hawaii.com

Maui Maui, powerful and mischievous, plays a leading role in many tales. His heroic feats include raising the sky from the earth and snaring the sun. At least one tale takes him fishing. Maui's broth-ers went fishing often but they always left Maui behind. Maui decided he wanted to fish for something unusual. He went first to the underworld to find a hook. From an old woman there who was half alive and half dead, he took the jawbone from her dead half and fashioned a fishhook. For magic bait, he caught a sacred alae bird. Finally coaxing them into taking him along, Maui took his hook and bait and joined his brothers in the fishing canoe. They

paddled far out into deep waters where Maui set his alae bait on the jawbone hook and let it sink to the bottom of the sea. The bait drifted down to Kaunihokahi whose duty it was to hold the land securely to the sea bottom. Kaunihokahi took the bait and hook and Maui, feeling the pull on the line, fastened his line to the ca-noe. He told his brothers to paddle as hard as they could toward home. As they worked against a great weight, one brother looked back and, astonished, saw a huge land mass rising behind the canoe. Another brother, too tired to continue, dropped his paddle

on the fish line and snapped it. The land they were hauling up broke away and fell back to the sea bottom. Instead of a conti-nent, Maui fished up only an island!

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Mermaids & Mermen: Facts & Legends By Benjamin Radford, Live Science Contributor – livescience.com Mermaids and other Marine Monsters With most of our blue planet covered by water, it's little wonder that, centuries ago, the oceans were believed to hide mysterious creatures including sea serpents and mermaids. Merfolk (mermaids and mermen) are, of course, the marine version of half-human, half-animal legends that have cap-tured human imagination for ages. One source, the "Arabian Nights," described mermaids as having "moon faces and hair like a woman's but their hands and feet were in their bellies and they had tails like fishes." C.J.S. Thompson, a former curator at the Royal College of Sur-geons of England, notes in his book "The Mystery and Lore of Monsters" that "Traditions concerning creatures half-human and half-fish in form have existed for thousands of years, and the Baby-lonian deity Era or Oannes, the Fish-god ... is usually depicted as having a bearded head with a crown and a body like a man, but from the waist downwards he has the shape of a fish." Greek my-thology contains stories of the god Triton, the merman messenger of the sea, and several modern religions including Hinduism and Candomble (an Afro-Brazilian belief) worship mermaid goddesses to this day. Many children are perhaps most familiar with the Disney ver-sion of "The Little Mermaid," a somewhat sanitized version of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale first published in 1837. In some legends from Scotland and Wales mermaids befriended — and even married — humans. Meri Lao, in her book "Seduction and the Se-cret Power of Women," notes that "In the Shetland Islands, mer-maids are stunningly beautiful women who live under the sea; their hybrid appearance is temporary, the effect being achieved by don-ning the skin of a fish. They must be very careful not to lose this while wandering about on land, because without it they would be unable to return to their underwater realm." In folklore, mermaids were often associated with misfortune and death, luring errant sailors off course and even onto rocky shoals (the terrifying mermaids in the 2011 film "Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides" are closer to the legendary creatures than is Disney's Ariel). Though not as well known as their comely female counterparts, there are of course mermen — and they have an equally fierce repu-tation for summoning storms, sinking ships and drowning sailors. One especially feared group, the Blue Men of the Minch, are said to dwell in the Outer Hebrides off the coast of Scotland. They look like ordinary men (from the waist up anyway) with the exception of their blue-tinted skin and gray beards. Local lore claims that before laying siege to a ship, the Blue Men often challenge its captain to a rhyming contest; if the captain is quick enough of wit and agile enough of tongue he can best the Blue Men and save his sailors from a watery grave. Japanese legends have a version of merfolk called kappa. Said to reside in Japanese lakes, coasts and rivers, these child-size water spirits appear more animal than human, with simian faces and tor-toise shells on their backs. Like the Blue Men, the kappa sometimes interact with humans and challenge them to games of skill in which the penalty for losing is death. Kappa are said to have an appetite for children and those foolish enough to swim alone in remote places — but they especially prize fresh cucumbers.

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'Real' mermaids? The reality of mermaids was assumed during medieval times, when they were depicted mat-ter-of-factly alongside known aquatic animals such as whales. Hundreds of years ago sailors and residents in coastal towns around the world told of encountering the sea maidens. One story dating back to the 1600s claimed that a mermaid had entered Holland through a dike, and was injured in the process. She was taken to a nearby lake and soon nursed back to

health. She eventually became a productive citizen, learning to speak Dutch, perform household chores, and eventually converted to Catholicism. Another mermaid encounter once offered as a true story is de-scribed in Edward Snow's "Incredible Mysteries and Legends of the Sea." A sea captain off the coast of Newfoundland described his 1614 encounter: "Captain John Smith [of Jamestown fame] saw a mermaid 'swimming about with all possible grace.' He pictured her as having large eyes, a finely shaped nose that was 'somewhat short, and well-formed ears' that were rather too long. Smith goes on to say that 'her long green hair imparted to her an original character that was by no means unattractive.'" In fact Smith was so taken with this lovely woman that he began "to experience the first effects of love" as he gazed at her before his sudden (and surely profoundly disappointing) realization that she was a fish from the waist down. Surrealist painter Rene Magritte depicted a sort of reverse mer-maid in his 1949 painting "The Collective Invention." By the 1800s, hoaxers churned out faked mermaids by the dozen to satisfy the public's interest in the creatures. The great showman P.T. Barnum displayed the "Feejee Mermaid" in the 1840s and it became one of his most popular attractions. Those pay-ing 50 cents hoping to see a long-limbed, fish-tailed beauty comb her hair were surely disappointed; instead they saw a grotesque fake corpse a few feet long. It had the torso, head and limbs of a monkey and the bottom part of a fish. To modern eyes it was an obvious fake, but it fooled and intrigued many at the time. Modern mermaids? Could there be a scientific basis for the mermaid stories? Some re-searchers believe that sightings of human-size ocean animals such as manatees and dugongs might have inspired merfolk legends. These animals have a flat, mermaid-like tail and two flippers that resemble stubby arms. They don't look exactly like a typical mer-maid or merman, of course, but many sightings were from quite a distance away, and being mostly submerged in water and waves only parts of their bodies were visible. Identifying animals in water is inherently problematic, since eyewitnesses by definition are only seeing a small part of the creature. When you add in the factor of low light at sunset and the distances involved, positively identifying even a known creature can be very difficult. A glimpse of a head, arm, or tail just before it dives under the waves might have spawned some mermaid reports. Modern mermaid reports are very rare, but they do occur; for example, news reports in 2009 claimed that a mermaid had seen sighted off the coast of Israel in the town of town of Kiryat Yam. It (or she) performed a few tricks for onlookers before just before sunset, then disappearing for the night. One of the first people to see the mermaid, Shlomo Cohen, said, "I was with friends when suddenly we saw a woman laying on the sand in a weird way. At

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From "The Swan Maiden's Feathered Robe" by Midori Snyder "It is hard to imagine a more visually beautiful image in folk tales than the one presented by the figures of the swan maiden and her sisters. With a flurry of wings, they swoop down from the sky to glide elegantly across a clear pond. Then, throwing off their feathered gowns, they bathe and frolic in the wa-ter as women. They are always lovely, sensual, a com-bination of exotic sexuality and innocent charm. "In the traditional swan maiden narrative, a hunter or young prince is smitten with love at first sight for the youngest swan sister — smitten enough to commit several crimes against the very object of his desire for the sole purpose of keeping such a magical creature within his grasp. These crimes culminate in marriage and the attempted domestica-tion of the wild, fantastical swan maiden, turned into a wife and mother. But this is less a tale about love than one about marital coercion and confusion. Neither husband nor wife is on the same page; their union is at best a tenuous détente, made possible only by the husband's theft of the swan maiden's feathered gown, forc-ing her to remain human and estranged from her own world. The husband has done nothing to earn such a powerful wife, and the swan maiden has no opportunity to choose her own fate. This is a marriage that cannot last in its fractured form. It must either go forward to find a level playing field for husband and wife, or it must end in miserable dissolution. "Let us consider a European version of the tale reconstructed from a variety of sources by Victorian author Joseph Jacobs. A hunter is spending the night in a clump of bushes on the edge of a pond, hoping to capture wild ducks. At midnight, hearing the whirring of wings, he is astonished to see not ducks but seven maidens clad in robes of feathers alight on the bank, disrobe, and begin to bathe and sport in the water. The hunter seizes the op-portunity to creep through the bushes and steal one of the robes. When dawn approaches, the sisters gather their garments and prepare to leave, but the youngest sister is distraught, unable to find her robe. Daylight is coming and the older sisters cannot wait for her. They leave her behind, telling her 'to meet your fate whatever it may be.' "As soon as the sisters are out of sight, the hunter approaches her, holding the feathered robe. The young maiden weeps and begs for its return, but the hunter, already too much in love, re-fuses. Instead, he covers her with his cloak and takes her home. Once there, he hides her robe, knowing that if she puts it on again, he will lose her. They are married, and she gifts him with two children, a boy and a girl. One day, while playing hide–and–seek, the little girl finds the hidden robe and brings it to her mother. Without a moment's hesitation, the wife slips on the robe. We can almost imagine the mother's sigh of relief to be herself again, her true fantastic self, and not the pale wife weighted down by domestic drudgery. And yet, she offers a spark of hope for the future of the marriage. 'Tell your father, if he wishes to see me again, he must find me in the land East o' the Sun and West' o' the Moon,' she says to her daughter just before flying out the win-dow. "No matter how compliant a swan maiden may appear as a wife, there remains an unspoken anxiety and tension beneath the surface of her marriage. Her husband can never be certain of her affection, for it has been held hostage by her stolen skin. He of-fers her his cloak, but it is an exchange of unequal goods. Her

feathered robe is the sign of her wild nature, of her freedom, and of her power, while his cloak becomes the instrument of her domestication, of her submission in human society. He steals her identity, the very thing that attracted him, and then turns her into his most precious prize, a pale version of the original creature of magic. "Conflict is never far beneath the veneer of the swan maiden's compliance. In a German ver-sion of the tale, a hunter captures a swan maiden's skin, and although she follows him home plead-ing for its return, he offers her only marriage. She accepts, not out of love but to remain close to the

skin which is her identity. Fifteen years and several children later, the hunter leaves to go on a hunting trip, for once forgetting to lock the attic. Alone in the house, the wife searches the attic and finds her skin in a dusty chest. She immediately puts it on and flies out the window before the startled eyes of her children, with nary a word of farewell.... "The swan maiden stories suggest that there are marriages that will themselves to dissolution because of the inability of the pair to mature and to integrate into each other's world. In the hu-man world, the swan maiden loses her fantastic nobility and is subjected to the daily labors of a human wife – including child-bearing, which is portrayed as so distasteful the swan wives often seem to have few qualms about leaving their children behind the moment they recover their skins. The husband either cannot find her world (and dies of melancholy), or, when he does succeed in arriving in her domain, he cannot accept the fantastical world on his wife's terms. These are, at best, temporary reunions.... "There was considerable renewed interest in the swan maiden tales in Europe throughout the late 19th century. For the English Victorians it was the era of the 'Married Woman's Property Acts' and of the 'New Woman.' Marriage roles, divorce, and the appro-priate role of a wife were being re-examined and questioned. The swan maiden, with her ability to effectively fly away from her marriage and her children, became a fascinating study for Victo-rian folklorists, who saw in the narrative the evolution of the in-stitution of marriage. According to Carole Silver in her illuminat-ing article 'East of the Sun and West of the Moon': Victorians and Fairy Brides, the interpretations of the tale varied widely, and depended on one's attitudes toward women's role in marriage, an imbalance of power between the sexes and women's sexuality. "Joseph Jacobs felt that the reader's sympathy lay with the abandoned husband, not the swan maiden as representative of a matrilineal society with 'easy and primitive' marriage bonds that could be more easily broken. Silver reports that Jacobs believed 'that the "eerie wife," in separating from her mate, forfeited the audience's respect; her behavior reinforced the listener's sympa-thy with the husband. "Is he not," Jacobs asked, to be "regarded as the superior of the fickle, mysterious maid that leaves him for the break of a taboo?" ' Silver argues that folklorists like Jacobs were expressing anxiety over the emerging institution of divorce, believing that the looseness of the marriage bond was a trait among 'savages.' Silver continues: 'Clearly, free and easy separa-tion was associated with primitive societies and savage eras. Complex and difficult divorce, on the other hand, was the hall-mark of a highly evolved society. . . .By diminishing the claims to superiority of the fairy bride, neutralizing her sexuality, and limiting or denying her right to divorce, Victorian folklorists ren-dered her acceptable to themselves and their society.'

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Mermaids and Mermen, continued from page 5

first I thought she was just another sunbather, but when we ap-proached she jumped into the water and disappeared. We were all in shock because we saw she had a tail." The town's tourism board was delighted with their newfound fame and offered a $1 million reward for the first person to photograph the creature. Unfortu-nately the reports vanished almost as quickly as they surfaced, and no one ever claimed the reward. In 2012 an Animal Planet special, "Mermaids: The Body Found," renewed interest in mermaids. It presented the story of scientists finding proof of real mermaids in the oceans. It was fic-tion but presented in a fake-documentary format that seemed realis-tic. The show was so convincing that the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration received enough inquiries following the TV special that they issued a statement officially denying the existence of mermaids. A temple in Fukuoka, Japan, is said to house the remains of a mermaid that washed ashore in 1222. Its bones were preserved at the behest of a priest who believed the creature had come from the legendary palace of a dragon god at the bottom of the ocean. For nearly 800 years the bones have been displayed, and water used to soak the bones was said to prevent diseases. Only a few of the bones remain, and since they have not been scientifically tested, their true nature remains unknown. Mermaids may be ancient, but they are still with us in many forms; their images can be found all around us in films, books, Disney movies, at Starbucks — and maybe even in the ocean waves if we look close enough.

Swan Maidens, continued from page 6

"Can we love the swan maiden? She seems to offer both an image of feminine power and feminine weakness: a girl who sub-mits to the deceptions of a suitor and a woman who rejects the terms of an unfair marriage. She is at once a doting mother and one who will happily abandon her children in favor of her own needs. Her ambiguous tale can be read as the suppression of women's rights and women's creative power through enforced domestication, but it can also show such a woman's resolve to not only survive a questionable marriage but to remain true to her nature. When given the chance, no amount of suppression can keep the swan maiden down. I feel a terrible tenderness for the youngest swan–girl, aban-doned by her sisters to her fate on the ground. I want to shelter her from the routine ordinariness of her human marriage, given over to

the demands of others. And I want to cheer, relieved and inspired, when she finds her own true self again, and rises to soar."

Out and About by Mark Compton As I sit here in the desert heat, I recall just a few short weeks ago I was in a lovely land of green bursting all over. I had the great privi-lege of travelling with Mark Goldman and a group of storytellers – Pam, Marian, Alissa, Sean, Amanda – to the island nation of Great Britain. The country has had an extraordinary history affecting much of the world and really is not very big, and consists, it seems, mostly of rolling green hills. Mark heads a group every year for a couple of weeks, on a tour with a historical bent. After landing in London’s Gatwick airport, we took an Uber ride which might be likened to Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride as it reeled through the crowded streets of London, dropping us off at a popular hostel in the King’s Crossing area. We stayed for a couple of days seeing some of London’s famous sites – trip down the Thames, Tate Museum, Globe Theatre – and just really enjoyed walking the streets, becoming familiar with the subways (very efficient and easy to use) and showed little restraint when an interesting pub or café crossed our path. Away from the city we traversed the gorgeous English country-side by train to Canterbury, a medieval city and home to the breath-takingly beautiful Canterbury Cathedral. The Cathedral dates from 600 A.D. although destroyed by fire and rebuilt around 1000 A.D. Political intrigue led to Thomas Becket, Arch Bishop of Canter-bury, to be murdered in the Cathedral by some of King Henry II’s knights in 1077. There is a spot identified where Becket met his fate. Not long after his murder Becket was made a Saint, and pil-grimages began to be made to the Cathedral from all over England. Geoffrey Chaucer’s great book ‘Canterbury Tales’ tells the stories of pilgrims on their way to Canterbury. The Cathedral holds regular services and it was my great luck we were in Canterbury on a Sun-day. I’m not a regular church going person but in that environment, I must admit, it was a thrill to kneel and be part of an ancient living ritual and receive the sacraments. A fun train ride through extraordinary landscapes of green fields landed us in Salisbury, another medieval town with its own Cathedral. Beautiful in its graceful elegance with a spire that is the tallest in England, the Cathedral dominates the well-kept quaint village of Salisbury. Since arriving in the U.K. we’d enjoyed an average 65 degrees Fahrenheit and our days in Salisbury were no exception. One day we took an hour bus ride to Stonehenge. De-spite the fact there are many, many tourists to see this internation-ally renowned archeological artifact, the wonder is not diminished. The British National Trust has created a wonderful museum to ac-company the experience and it is worth spending time at, to get a real understanding of what we know of Stonehenge and the sur-rounding area. Bristol was the next city we visited, and a vibrant urban center it is, with a wonderful mix of culture and nature. It is the home of the internationally known graffiti artist Banksy, whom they have em-braced and whose work you see all around the city. We visited The Clifton suspension bridge, ate pub food, stayed at a swanky hotel, took a dizzying taxi ride to the waterfront where artists’ studios abound, with performance spaces, cafes and pubs. It was all great fun, but we stayed only one day and the next morning took a flight to Dublin. I don’t know much about Dublin, some told me it was a small city, but on foot, it seemed big to me, with a river running through the middle of it. Still sunny, some of us took a train to the tiny hamlet town of Howth and had a ball tramping through the green countryside. I listened to a lot of Irish music as the hostel was near music venues of all sorts. Travelling abroad prompts me think about who I am and where I fit in this world.

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea. Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I have caught a glimpse of what man may be, along an endless wave-beaten coast at dawn. It began on the beaches of Costabel. I was an inhumanly stripped skeleton without voice, without hope, wandering alone upon the shores of the world. I was devoid of pity, because pity implies hope. In a dingy restaurant I had heard a woman say, “In Costabel, my father reads a goose bone for the weather.” Perhaps that was why I had finally found myself in Co-stabel, why all men are destined at some time to arrive there as I did. I concealed myself beneath a fisherman’s cap and sunglasses, so that I looked like everyone else on the beaches of Costabel, which are littered with the debris of life. There, along the strip of wet sand that marks the tide, death walks hugely and in many forms. The sea casts them repeatedly back upon the shore. The tiny breathing pores of starfish are stuffed with sand. The rising sun shrivels their unprotected bodies. The endless war is soundless. Nothing screams but the gulls. In the night, torches bobbing like fireflies along the beach, are the sign of the professional shellers. Greedy madness sweeps over the competing collectors, hurrying along with bundles of gathered starfish that will be slowly cooked and dissolved in the outdoor kettles provided by the resort hotels for the cleaning of specimens. It was there that I met the star thrower. As the sound of the sea became heavier and more menacing, I rounded a bluff into the full blast of the offshore wind. Long-limbed starfish were strewn everywhere, sprawling where the waves had tossed them as though showered down through the night sky. The sun behind me was pressing upward at the horizon’s rim ~ an ominous red glare amidst the tumbling blackness of the clouds. Ahead of me, over the projecting point, a gigantic rainbow of in-credible perfection had sprung shimmering into existence. Toward its foot I discerned a human figure standing, as it seemed to me, within the rainbow. He was gazing fixedly at something in the sand. He stooped and flung an object beyond the breaking surf. I la-bored another half a mile toward him and by the time I reached him, kneeling again, the rainbow had receded ahead of us. In a pool of sand and silt a starfish had thrust its arms up stiffly and was holding its body away from the stifling mud. “It’s still alive,” I ventured. “Yes,” he said, and with a quick, yet gentle movement, he picked up the star and spun it over my head and far out into the sea. “It may live if the offshore pull is strong enough,” he said. In a sudden embarrassment for words I said, “Do you collect shells?” “Only ones like this,” he said softly, gesturing amidst the wreckage of the shore, “and only for the living.” He stooped again, and skipped another star neatly across the water. “The stars,” he

said, “throw well. One can help them.” He looked full at me with a faint question kindling in his eyes. “No, I do not collect,” I said uncomfortably, the wind beating at my garments. “neither the liv-ing nor the dead. I gave it up a long time ago. Death is the only successful collector.” I nodded and walked away, leaving him there with the great rainbow ranging up the sky behind him. I turned as I neared a bend in the coast and saw him toss an-other star, skimming it skillfully far out over the ravening and tu-multuous water. For a moment, in the changing light, the Sower appeared magnified, with the posture of a god. But, my cold world-shriveling view began its inevitable circling in my skull. He is just a man, I considered sharply, bringing my thought to rest. The star thrower is a man, and death is running more fleet than he, and along every seabeach in the world. The evolutionists saw life rushing outward from an unknown center, just as today the astronomer senses the galaxies fleeing into the infinity of darkness. From the Darwinian thesis we moved to Freud’s inner world where the mind is revealed as a place of con-tending furies. For this reason I had come to Costabel. And now I lay on my agonized bed. “Love not the world,” the Biblical injunc-tion runs. “But I do love the world,” I whispered to the empty room. I love its small ones, the things beaten in the strangling surf the singing bird which falls and is not seen again, the lost ones, the failures of the world.” Thus was the renunciation of my scientific heritage. I had seen the star thrower cross that rift and he had reasserted the human right to define his own frontier. He had moved to the utmost edge of natural being. I had been unbelieving, hardened by the indifference of maturity. I arose with a solitary mission, to find the star thrower beneath his rainbow. I found him on a projecting point of land in the sweet rain-swept morning. Silently, I sought and picked up a still-living star, spinning it far out into the wave. I spoke once briefly. “I understand,” I said, “call me another thrower.” Only then I allowed myself to think. He is not alone any longer. After us there will be others. We were part of the rainbow – like the drawing of a circle in men’s minds, the circle of perfection. I picked and flung another star. I could feel the movement in my body. It was like a sowing – the sowing of life on an infinitely gigantic scale. I looked back over my shoulder, and small and dark against the receding rainbow, the star thrower stooped and flung one more. I never looked back again. The task we assumed was too immense for gazing. I flung and flung again while all about us roared the insatiable waters of death, the burning sun, for it was men as well as starfish that we sought to save, a thrower who loved not man, but life.

Most are familiar with various versions of the “starfish story” because it has been used and adapted by inspirational speakers, and re-written over and over, shortened enough to fit on cards and signs, and used to create motivation and meaning in songs and stories. And all of that without attributing the author. Many of these actually say “author unknown.” This is an excerpt from the original story.

The Star Thrower from The Unexpected Universe, by Loren Eiseley

Why The Stars Are In The Sky, an Eskimo Legend To the Eskimos the stars are not just put in the sky to give light or guide the wandering traveler. They are living things, sent by some twist of fate to roam the heavens forever, never swerving from their paths. One of these creatures who left the earth and went to live in the sky was Nanuk the bear. One day Nanuk was waylaid by a pack of fierce Eskimo hunting dogs. Nanuk knew only too well that Eskimo dogs are not to be trifled with, and he tried to give them the slip. Faster and faster he ran over the ice, but the dogs were still at his heels. For hours the chase went on, yet he could not shake them off.

In the fury and terror of the hunt, they had come very close to the edge of the world, but neither Nanuk or his pursuers noticed. When at last they reached it, they plunged straight over into the sky and turned into stars. To the Europeans they are the Pleiades, in the constellation of Taurus the Bull. But to this day Eskimos see them as Nanuk the bear, with the pack of savage dogs out for his blood. Up in the sky directly overhead the Eskimos see a giant Caribou, though we call it the Great Bear.

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Amorous, affectionate and affable, Selkies are the hidden gems of sea mythology. Gentle souls who prefer dancing in the moonlight over luring sailors to their death, Selkies are often overlooked by mythological enthusiasts for the more enthralling forms of mer-maids or sirens. Yet Selkies play a prominent role in the mythol-ogy of Scandinavia, Scotland and Ireland. Their myths are ro-mantic tragedies, a common theme for land/sea romances, how-ever it is the Selkies who suffer rather than their human lovers and spouses. While the tales of Selkies always begin with a warm and peaceful "once upon a time", there are no true happy ending for the tales of Selkies—someone always gets his/her heart broken. The mythology of selkies is similar to that of the Japanese swan maidens, though historically it appears that the tales of the swan maidens predate the western tradition. Selkies can be either men or women, but are seals while in the water. What differentiates them from mermaids (aside from the choice of animal) is that they undergo a full body transformation upon coming to shore: they do not merely transform seal tails into human legs, but rather completely shapeshift from the sea animals into a human. This is accom-plished by shedding their seal-skin when they come to land. Sel-kies are predominately mythological creatures from Irish, Scot-tish (particularly in Orkney and the Shetland Islands) and Faroese folklore, however there is a similar tradition in Iceland as well. Their name descends from the Scottish selich, and there does not appear to be a Gaelic term for these creatures. This is likely indicative of their prominence in early modern Scottish culture. It is believed that the Selkies arose in legends when early Scottish settlers and shipwrecked Spaniards married dark-haired, fur-wearing Finnish and Saami native women. Described as incredibly handsome and beautiful, Selkies take the role of both predator and prey. Those who willingly come to land often seek those who are already dissatisfied in their daily lives such as the wives of fisherman. It appears more common in myths that the "predator" Selkies are usually the males, as tales indicate the men more often seek out lonely humans; however, there are also variations in which human women choose to sum-mon male Selkies to the shore by sending seven tears to the sea. Selkies can only remain in the presence of humans for a short period of time, and then must commonly wait seven years to re-turn the shore. That rule is broken, however, when a Selkie is forced to remain a human without his/her consent.

The other way in which Selkies become part of human life is when their seal skin is stolen. These tales most often occur to female Selkies, creating the role of "prey" as mentioned above. It is not uncommon in myths for Selkies to come ashore and trans-form into humans for pleasure, and it is often during this time (when the skin is left unattended) that human men steal the fe-male's skin. Once a Selkie is no longer in possession of his/her skin, the

Selkie is under the hold of the human—most often de-picted as a forced marriage. Interestingly, Selkie women are very good wives, but regardless of how happy a Selkie is on land, or how many children he/she beget during their time on the surface, once a Selkie recovers his/her lost skin, the Selkie immediately re-turns to the sea without looking back. Ironically, vari-ous tales also depict the half human children acciden-tally finding their parent's lost skin and returning it without being aware of the repercussions. One rather uncommon tale of Selkies reveals what happens if a Selkie chooses to return to the sea. It ap-pears, according to one tale from the Faroe Islands, that

upon making this choice, the Selkie is not able to return to his/her former life even if the Selkie wanted to. An abridged version of this tale describes a human husband sailing into a treacherous storm, saved only when his Selkie wife retrieves her skin and rescues him as a seal from certain death. Though this tale indi-cates a real love between the Selkie wife and her human husband, her donning of her seal skin will prevent her from ever taking part in the human world again. This is only one variation, of course, and thus is contradicted by other mythologies, however it is pertinent to the tale of Selkies because it reveals that all hu-man/Selkie marriages are not hollow. Selkies are far tamer and much more gentile than their mer-maid and siren counterparts, and it is likely this is because those cultures who believed in Selkies lived very close to the sea and, in a way, the edges of the world. To these cultures, the sea was both wild and bountiful at the same time. It is not unreasonable to assume that the nature of the Selkies has remained tame through-out their legends because the sea was a source of survival for the Scandinavians and Scotsmen who believed in them. While Sel-kies are less prominent in cultural traditions today, they should be valued for their preference to love rather than harm humans. It is more pleasant to image a Selkie mother watching over her human children from the sea, than a seductive mermaid planning her next underwater vanquish.

Legends of the Selkies, Hidden Gems of Sea Mythology By Ryan Stone

Long, long ago there was a time when men did not venture into the deep ocean waters. It was believed that the world was flat and to sail beyond the horizon meant falling off the edge of the earth. So even though they were drawn to and fascinated by the ocean, men feared it. And as men lived their lives above the water, far beyond their view and in the ocean's deepest depths lived myste-rious and magical sea creatures, half girl and half fish. These shy, gentle creatures were called mermaids and much loved by the ocean. And when men finally overcame their fear and ventured out to sea, risking disaster and even death, it was the mermaids who came to their rescue. Written by award-winning author Trinka Hakes Noble, this original legend explains the origin of sea glass, attributing it to the tears of mermaids, weeping for lives lost at sea.

Who isn’t fascinated by sea glass? In this fairy tale, published in February of 2016, Trinka Hake Noble describes sea glass as “the tears of mermaids weeping for lives lost at sea . . . “

This children’s book about mermaids is beautifully illustrated. Available at Amazon in Kindle and Hardcover editions

Top 10 Welsh myths Gillian Clarke, the national poet of Wales, draws on a tradition older than books in her pick of beautiful, funny and moving Welsh myths, from the familiar - King Arthur and the Sword in the Stone - to the wonderfully weird. Rocks sit in Llyn Dinas at dawn in Snowdonia National Park in Bethania, Wales. Llyn Dinas nes-tles in a valley a few miles north of Beddgelert where the sad story of Gelert is set. Myths and legends, traditional stories passed down the generations from adult to child, told by the fire or round the table as long as people have gathered to eat, drink, sing or pluck a harp, are really a kind of history. Myth is how people explained the world, long ago, and such stories are often associated with real places. This year is the centenary of the birth of T Llew Jones, writer of many fine children’s books in Welsh. Twenty five years ago, I was commissioned to translate his retelling of 26 traditional sto-ries Lleuad yn Olau (One Moonlit Night). This is my top 10 fa-vourite Welsh myths, all contained in this wonderful collection.

1. The first myth I loved was The Girl from Llyn y Fan Fach. When I was a child, my father took me to the lake below the Black Mountain in Carmarthenshire, and told me how, long ago, a young man, watching his cattle by the lake, sees a beautiful girl rise from the water. She vanishes, then returns twice more. Each time he asks her to stay. They fall in love. Her father lets them marry, but warns that if the young man touches her three times with metal, he will lose her. Over the years he accidentally taps her with a horseshoe, a ring, and a bridle, and she runs home to the lake. My father told me the magic place of metal in the story means it might come from a time when Stone Age people first met Iron Age tribes, with their iron swords and flashing jewel-lery. 2. Arthur’s name is first mentioned in a great sixth-century poem called The Gododdin, about a real battle - they were times of warring tribes in Britain. The Sword in the Stone tells us that, just before his death, King Uthr Pendragon gives his baby son, Arthur, to the care of Merlin the wizard, in the hope that his boy would grow up to save Britain. Years later, a young boy does what no one else could do. He draws the sword from the stone. He is the boy Arthur. 3. In Arthur’s Last Journey two of his dearest knights, Cai and Bedwyr, are with him. He is dying. He tells Bedwyr to cast his famous sword, Excalibur, far out into the lake. Bedwyr can’t bear to do it. He hides it, and lies to Arthur, twice. At last he obeys the king, and sees a hand reach up from the water to catch Excalibur. Arthur is borne in a boat over the lake to the island of Avalon. In British, or Welsh, “afal” means apple, and “Afallon” is the island of apples. But where is Avalon? 4. We are still searching for “Arthur’s Cave”. One tale places the cave in North Wales, where, so the story goes, it was discov-ered long ago by a shepherd searching for lost sheep in a ravine. He cuts and whittles a stick from a hazel tree in the ravine, and takes it to market where an old man (Merlin the wizard, in dis-guise) asks where he got it. They return to the mountain together and find the cave, and sleeping knights in shining armour, one knight more kingly than the rest. It is Arthur. They wake. Arthur says, “Sleep again! Our time is not yet come.” The boy never finds the cave again.

5. Daughters of the Sea is a sad story, and I am reminded of it when I hear the cry of a seagull. The story is set in Cardigan Bay, near the Irish Sea, often hit by powerful storms. It tells that Dylan the sea god, who lives under the waters of Car-digan Bay, envies an old man his three daughters. Dylan calls up a great storm, and sends a huge wave to steal the girls. Their father is heartbroken. Regret-ting his evil deed, Dylan turns the girls into seagulls, belonging both to the sea and the land. Since that day, when the old man walks on the beach and calls their names, three white gulls fly to him from the sea. 6. The Story of Gelert is set in a place in North Wales

called Beddgelert, Gelert’s Grave. It is said to be the the grave of a brave hound commanded by his owner, Llewelyn, to guard his baby son, who lies asleep in his cradle. A wolf comes, but Gelert fights it to the death, overturning the cradle in the battle. Llewe-lyn returns to find the cradle upturned and blood on the floor. He kills Gelert with his sword, before seeing the dead wolf, and hears the baby cry under the cradle. Overcome with guilt and sorrow, he buries Gelert, and has a stone placed on the grave to remember him. 7. The King’s Secret is both funny and touchingly human. The king, named March ap Meirchion - it means Stallion son of Stallions - has a secret: he has the ears of a horse. He is ashamed of his horse ears. Only his barber knows, and he is sworn to se-crecy. But the barber can’t keep a secret, so he goes to a bog and whispers it to the reeds. Passing pipers cut some reeds to make themselves new pipes. When they play for the king, instead of music, the pipes whisper “the King has the ears of a horse”. The secret is out. March takes off his crown to reveal his ears, and no one laughs, or minds at all. 8. Gwion and the Witch tells of the birth of Taliesin, one of the earliest British poets whose name we know. The witch is Ceridwen. Gwion, her servant, must keep the fire burning for a year and a day under the cauldron where the magic brew sim-mers. Ceridwen has made the potion to bestow on her son, Mor-fran, the gift of poetry. But as the cauldron boils nearly dry, the last magic drop jumps onto Gwion’s finger. He sucks his scalded finger, and it is he, not Morfran, who will become the great poet. In an exciting chase, he escapes the witch and all her evil spells, and becomes Taliesin. 9. Branwen is one of my favourite stories, traditionally set in Harlech, North Wales, but when my father told me the story, he set it on the beach below my grandmother’s farm. Branwen, mar-ried to the king of Ireland, was so unhappy that she taught a star-ling to say her name, and sent it across the sea to Wales. It landed on the shoulder of her brother, the giant Brân. He set out at once to rescue her, wading through the sea, towing a fleet of ships. He left a boulder from his pocket on the cliff, and a paddling-pool-sized footprint stamped on the beach. Or so my father said. 10. The Country Under the Sea is my favourite story since a real great storm rolled in from the Irish Sea last winter, removing a metre depth of sand from the beach at Borth on Cardigan Bay. There, revealed, was the proof we always knew was hidden under the beach: the blackened petrified remains of an ancient forest, and evidence of land inhabited six thousand years ago. It was the mythical country under the sea, Cantre’r Gwaelod. Real people lived here, and their story, passed down the generations, has turned to legend.

One Moonlit Night by T Llew Jones, adapted by Gillian Clarke and illustrated by Jac Jones is published by Pont Books, available on Amazon for $23.00 (hardcover)

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Storytelling Events

Guild Meetings and more on the Back Page!

Contact Andy to list your events here at ahurlbut@cox.net

ODYSSEY STORYTELLING Tucson Thursday, June 1st 7:00pm - 9:30pm

True stories from members about themselves and their lives, based on the "theme of the month." Check website for current theme: Odysseystorytelling.com ADMISSION: $8

The Screening Room, 127 E. Congress Street, Tucson Contact: Adam Hostetter Stories@Odysseystorytelling.com

The Moth Radio Hour

KJZZ is broadcasting the storytelling program The Moth from 3:00 to 4:00 pm on Saturday afternoons on local Public Radio Station 91.5 FM. Check out their web site at themoth.org/radio.

This is the program that inspired the Arizona Storytellers Project—a live broadcast of true stories.

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The Chatterbox - Open Mic Every Wednesday 8:00pm - 10:00pm Grand Central Coffee Company 718 N Central Ave. Phoenix 85004

Chatterbox Storytelling Open Mic is a live storytelling event hosted by Jessie Balli and produced by The Storyline Collective where everyone is welcome to share their story. Our mission is to give the community a place to share their truth, to connect with others and find their voice.

$5 All Ages Tickets available at door (Cash or Card) Wednesdays Sign-up 7:30pm Show starts 8 pm ends 10 pm

Check the website link for weekly themes. More Info: http://thestoryline.org/chatterbox

KJZZ (91.5 FM) is offering the TED Radio Hour on Saturday mornings from 11 a.m. – 12 p.m. This dynamic show expands upon discussions from the renowned TED Talks, where some of the world’s most profound thinkers and innovators are invited to give the “talk of their lives.”

To go with our beach theme for July, here is a delightful Childrens’ book . . . I love the imagery of bats roasting marsh-mallows (see cover art at right). Bats at the Beach!

The book that started it all. The first in a series of bat books, this book describes in delightful verse the story of bats at the beach. Brian Lies has written three other books about bats, Bats at the Ball-game, Bats in the Band, Bats at the Library.

Here is the Amazon description: Quick, call out! Tell all you can reach: the night is just per-fect for bats at the beach! So pack your buckets, banjos, and blankets—don’t forget the moon-tan lotion—and wing with this bunch of fuzzy bats to where foamy sea and soft sand meet. Brian Lies’s enchanting art and cheery beachside verse will inspire bedtime imaginations again and again. Come visit a be-dazzling world of moonlight, firelight, and . . . bats!

Arizona Storytellers - Stories About Stories Wed, Jul 12, 2017 7:00pm - 9:00pm

Join azcentral.com and The Arizona Republic for a night of story-telling from the journalists at The Republic and azcentral.com. You’ll hear the stories behind the stories that make this commu-nity so wild and wonderful.

Emcee: Megan Finnerty, founder of the Storytellers Project, and Joanna Brathwaite, social media and events producer for The Arizona Republic

Featured tellers: Rebekah Sanders, Maricopa County politics and government reporter Kaila White, reporter John D'Anna, Page 1 editor Craig Harris, state agencies reporter Yihyun Jeong, public safety reporter

Become a subscriber: All Arizona Republic and azcentral sub-

scribers receive a complimentary, gourmet brownie from Fairytale Brownies at check-in.

Visit azcentral.com to learn about other great subscriber perks.

Accessibility Note: If you require ASL Interpretation Services for this event or a future Storytellers event, or if you require accommodations related to mobility or seating, contact Alexus Rhone at ar-hone@gannett.com.

Event Location: Phoenix Theatre 100 E McDowell Rd. Phoenix 85004

Ok, paradigm shift, faeries and brownies exist. Dawn Marie Hamilton, Just Beyond the Garden Gate

Eel-Grass By Edna St Vincent Millay

No matter what I say, All that I really love

Is the rain that flattens on the bay, And the eel-grass in the cove;

The jingle-shells that lie and bleach At the tide-line, and the trace

Of higher tides along the beach: Nothing in this place.

Silence by Paul Laurence Dunbar

'Tis better to sit here beside the sea, Here on the spray-kissed beach, In silence, that between such friends as we Is full of deepest speech.

West Side Storytellers Membership Application $10 annual Membership entitles you to receive a monthly e-newsletter

For information contact westsidestorytellers@yahoo.com (Please make checks payable to Susan Sander)

Name (s) ______________________________________________________________________ Contact info: E-mail__________________________________________________ Phone: _________________________

The West Side Storytellers meet on the first Satur-day of the month (except July and August) at 10:00 am

at the St. John’s Lutheran Church 7205 N. 51st Ave., Glendale, AZ 85301

No meeting in July

Our mission statement: West Side Storytellers (WSST) is a storytelling guild dedicated to the developing and advancing the art of storytelling by giving group performances, workshops and other storytelling events for public enjoyment and education.

Contact us: westsidestorytellers@yahoo.com

Newsletter - Contact Andy Hurlbut at ahurlbut@cox.net or call 602.437.0811 with feedback, questions and comments, or with

articles and information for events, etc. Articles or stories are lim-ited to 1000 - 1500 words or less.

The Back Page - more events!

East Valley Tellers of Tales Meet the second Saturday of the month (except July and August)

to hear great stories and celebrate Storytelling Successes. All tellers and listeners are welcome.

No meeting in July

Meeting is from 10:00 am to noon at the Scottsdale Civic Center Library, 3839 N. Drinkwater Blvd., Scottsdale

(downstairs in the Gold Room)

East Valley Tellers of Tales is a group that provides a safe place to hear and tell stories, to learn about stories and storytelling, and enjoy fellowship with others. We support the personal and professional development of members, preserve and promote storytelling, and provide information about storytelling opportu-nities and events. Info at evtot.com

Tucson Tellers of Tales Guild Meeting

No meeting in July

Tellers of Tales was formed in 1979 to preserve and promote the art of storytelling. If you're looking to tell stories, learn to tell

stories or listen to stories, this is the group for you. Tellers of all skill levels are welcome OR if you just think it might be some-thing you'd like to learn we offer workshops and feedback on

ways to find, develop and present stories.

We meet the first Saturday of every month 9:30 am - 12:00 am (except July and August)

The Unscrewed Theatre 3244 E. Speedway Blvd. Tucson, Arizona 85716

West Side Storytellers Officers President - Mark Compton (Mark.compton@usa.net)

Secretary & Newsletter - Andy Hurlbut (ahurlbut@cox.net) Treasurer - Susan Sander (sksander@cox.net)

Web Guru - Donna Martin (dmartinstoryteller@gmail.com)

The answer may not be at the beach, but shouldn’t we at least check?!

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me— Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea— In her tomb by the sounding sea.