Voices of the NCSG - J. A. Bolton

J. A. Bolton was raised in Richmond County North Carolina along the banks of the Pee Dee River. He loves to hear the old characters tell their tall tales. Won't long he was telling 'em with the best of them. He loves telling stories to any age group and finds that telling stories is a good stress reliever for himself and his listeners. Around these parts he is known as "Richmond County's own professional story teller." So if you need a speaker or just someone to tell humorous stories, he's your man. "Live, love, laugh" is his motto.

Little Rattler (The Best Snake dog in two Counties)

When I was ten years old my Great Uncle gave me a little mixed hound puppy. The Mama of this pup was a fine Black and Tan Hound, while the daddy was just a mixed up fiest named Ol’ Rattler. Uncle L.D. said the only reason he kept Rattler around was to guard against Rattlesnakes. Those type of snakes and others were bad around his farm which was located deep in the Uwharrie Mountains.

You see this black fiest-looking dog just showed up one day at Uncle L.D.’s house looking poorly.  “Kinda felt sorry for the dog because he was just a stack of bones and hadn’t seen a good meal in a Coon’s age,” he said. He fed the dog and asked everyone in the neighborhood if’n that was their dog. Of course no one claimed him and it looked like Uncle L.D. was stuck with him even though he had a pen full of nice hounds.

Well, time went on and the mutt started to put on weight and his black hair started to shine like new money. Won’t long he started following Uncle L.D. everywhere he went on the farm and he was turning out to be a good guard dog, don’t you know. The dog would follow Uncle L.D. on the tractor and when my aunt rang the dinner bell he would lie under the tractor till Uncle L.D. returned and then go to the house to get his dinner.

Uncle L.D. just called the mutt “dog” until one evening he went out of the back screen door to draw up some cool water out of the well and heard the dog baying right under the back porch steps. Uncle L.D. went back into the house, got his gun, and slipped out the front door and came around to the back steps. There under the steps was a large Rattlesnake about five foot long just a rattling away while the dog kept him at bay. Of course that shotgun made short work of that snake while the dog ran at the sound of the gun. Uncle L.D. finally got his hands on “dog” and petted him up good and from then on his name was Ol’ Rattler and he was known as the best snake dog in the Uwharries even though he was a little gun shy.

You know I hoped my little pup would turn out like his daddy and so I gave him the name of “Little Rattler.” As time went by I could see some of the fine traits developing in Little Rattler. In just a few months he started following me everywhere and even if we got separated he would trail me right up. Why he could sniff out a frog or grasshopper in a heartbeat. I started taking him fishing with me and he would smell every fish I caught. Won’t long he could sniff out a bream bed in the middle of the lake. The way I could tell he knew there was a bream bed; he would go to the water’s edge and start whining and dipping his front paws in the water. Took me a while to figure it out but every time he put his paw in the water was how many feet the bream bed was out in the water. Folks, it won’t long everybody in the community wanted to go fishing with us!!

The next year my Dad built us a riverboat and we would leave Little Rattler home when we fished in the river. Mom said the dog would howl and whine the whole time we were gone and that we needed to take him fishing in the boat.

The next Saturday, Dad and I decided to fish in Capel’s Mill pond and he said we could take Little Rattler. As we loaded the boat in the truck, Little Rattler jumped in the boat and laid down; ready to go.

Soon we were at the mill pond and Little Rattler jumped out and took himself a good swim then proceeded to shake himself off all over us. We loaded all our gear while Little Rattler plopped himself right on the boat’s front seat. As we left the bank he let out a few good barks as if to say, ‘let’s go fishing, boys.”

The water in the pond was low because the dam was leaking, so we started paddling up the main run which was Mountain Creek. The creek wound around a large hill that Daddy called Cave Hill. He said there was a small cave located about half way up the hill and that old people said the Indians had a burial ground around the cave. He also said that a lot of people had seen some strange things come off that hill and most old people avoided it.

Well, we were enjoying paddling our boat under the large canopy of trees that lined the creek bank when all of a sudden Little Rattler got a whiff of something and sailed off into the creek. As he got to the bank, I tried to call him back but no luck. Rattler made his way straight up the hill while Dad and I anchored the boat. It wasn’t long we heard Rattler barking and he seemed to be baying something. I wanted to go to him but Dad said that I might get snake bitten in all that brush.

We listened for a while then all at once we heard Little Rattler barking, running something down the hill toward us. When he got in sight it looked as if he was jumping back and forth through a hoop rolling down the hill. At first it looked like a tire but as it got closer dad said, “I ain’t never in my life seen it before but it’s a Hoop snake and that dog is jumping through it to make it go faster.”

Faster and faster they got and be John Brown if’in that old snake didn’t rolled right through that creek and up the other side, never to be seen again.

Folks I had witnessed something most people never see or never will see thanks to my little dog.

Little Rattler had proven to me that he was a chip off the old block and was the best snake dog a little boy could ever own!!

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Sarah Beth Nelson

Sarah Beth once stood in the Roman Forum, surrounded by dusty ruins. Instead of a gaping hole, she saw a statue of Jupiter. Instead of the wind, she heard Nero’s fiddle. The ruins were alive with story.

As a Latin scholar and librarian, Sarah Beth draws much of her inspiration from classical history and mythology. But, Rome isn’t the only place with a few good tales, so Sarah Beth dips into other folk traditions as well.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - LeeAnna Lawrence

LeeAnna teaches Humanities in the College division at UNC - School of the Arts, where she tries to incorporate myths and storytelling into her teaching process. She’d like to develop as a storyteller. Many of her stories involve her childhood in Fuquay-Varina, NC, as well as myths and ghost stories. She also teaches mixed media visual arts to middle schoolers at the Sawtooth School of Visual Arts and would love to explore ways of mixing storytelling and visual art.

     The Strange Mother:  Raleigh, NC, 1884

     My neighbor’s kids are good at Watching.

     They don’t play outdoors much, and when they do

     it's usually with mechanical things like lithium-powered little cars

     or bikes or skateboards.

    

     When they get bored they mostly go back inside to watch things on a screen,

     but sometimes they Watch me.

     I tend a pollinator bed between their house and mine.

     I’ll be on my knees watching butterfly larvae

     in a clump of parsley,

     and something will make me look up

     and there they’ll be, three impassive little guys

     aged three, four, and five, in adorably tiny

     helmets and knee pads, Watching me.

     Watching isn’t the same as simply looking.

     Watching is about demanding answers, connecting the dots.

     I have no kids myself but I’m amiable enough, moderately good-hearted,

     and I’ve been told you can never go wrong

     by speaking to a child. 

    So I show them the butterflies on the sedum

    and the little wasps on the anise hyssop,

    which smells like Christmas cookies and churches.

    We compare husky bumblebees, who are bullies,

    to the honeybees, who are smaller and seem

    to want to do the job without any trouble.

    And I urge them to wish the honey bees good luck.

    “You play outside a lot,” says the oldest.

     That’s because I like the outdoors, I tell him.

     “Why?” asks the three-year-old.

     Because it makes me happy,

     and a better planetary citizen, I answer.

    What about you guys, I ask. 

    Do you like inside or outside best?

    The two youngest defer to the oldest boy.

    “Oh we like inside best,” he says.  All three nod emphatically.

    But why’s that, I ask, when you can watch

    butterflies in the bog sage?  Or explore the pleasures

    of dirt?

    The oldest gives me a look

    I’ve been getting from a lot of young men lately,

    particularly young men who want to fix my cell phone or computer—

    a look of pity and dismissal mixed—

    and he says, as if it should be perfectly obvious,

   “Because that’s where all the electrical outlets are.”

    Well, we all have our needs.

    Sometimes our needs take us to strange places.

    For instance, in May 1884 in the northeastern part of Raleigh, North Carolina,

    a farmer noticed that his turkey hen wasn’t acting right. 

    He knew she’d made her nest some distance from the house,
    and  laid a clutch of eggs.

    But she wasn’t on the nest that fine spring day.

    She’d appeared on the front porch, flustered and oddly mute,

    with a shocked look in her eyes—an observation which can only come

    from someone who has intimate personal knowledge of turkeys.

    So the farmer checked the nest she’d constructed so carefully

    in the blackberry bushes on a southern facing slope

    and had something of a shock himself:

    A highland moccasin was curled around the eggs

    as motherly as any setting hen.

    No wonder the poor turkey had a mental breakdown.

    The farmer was flummoxed, had never seen the like;

    and while he had some doubts about the propriety

    of the situation, he was a Watcher by nature

    and decided for curiosity’s sake to see it through.

    He kept his eyes and ears open

    and five days later he heard the peeping.

    He ran to the nest

    and made it just in time to see the snake

    making a sinuous break for it up the hillside

    with the whole brood of turkey chicks happily following her.

    The mother turkey never got over it.

    She laid dud eggs that never hatched

    and lost her excellent nest-building skills.

    She’d looked into the lidless eye of the snake and seen something

    she couldn’t resolve—perhaps some vastly primitive ancestral connection

    between herself and the interloper.

    The snake must have offered her a grim negotiation:

    These Eggs are mine by right of Saurian Antecedent.  Submit to my Need

    or you will die, you disgraced descendant of dragons.

    Encountering such vehemently cold-blooded desire

    turned her brain to ash.

   

    By the next autumn she’d taken to wandering alone

    through the goldenrod at the edge of the woods,

    her feathers dusty and unkempt.

    A fox got her before too long.

    She didn’t put up a fight, thinking, possibly, with some relief,

    Well, at least this is normal.

   

    The farmer, too, was changed by what he’d seen. 

    People’s lives were vastly more rural then

    and being a Watcher, he knew something about snakes.

    In his experience no self-respecting North Carolina moccasin

    builds nests or incubates their young.

    They bear their young alive and wiggling

    and only spend a day or so with them, for politeness’ sake.

    (By the way, to be perfectly clear, the only snakes that

    incubate their eggs are the python species,

    and the only ones who build nests for eggs

    are king cobras).

    Why would the snake act so contrary to its nature?

    The episode was so unusual, so larger than life somehow,

    that he kept turning it over in his head

    to try to ferret out a meaning. 

    Was it a Sign? 

    Was it a warning that the world’s threads

    were unraveling?

    Was it simply that the wise (if emotionally vulnerable) old hen

    had made her nest  in such a warm and cozy spot

    that the snake, still a little sluggish from her winter sleep,

    had enjoyed it too much to leave?

    That answer seemed to him almost too…mundane.

    It had to mean something wonderful.  He couldn't bear any other conclusion.

    He finally decided that there was simply something damn special

    about that snake and let it lie

    because people got tired of hearing him

    talk about it, and told him so.

    He became more vigilant

    of things like the number of crows on a fence

    or the patterns left by snails in the pine straw.

    And while he craved certainty more than before, he went to church less.

You have to wonder what became of the snake

and her flock of turkey chicks.

It couldn’t have been easy, being an interspecies blended family,

but I like to think they made a go of it.

There may have been some sort of kink

in her reptilian heart that prompted her

to forge such a strange family.  She may have satisfied her heart’s desire,

and the chicks, well, they knew no better,

having been imprinted on the snake,
so she was all they could have wanted in a mother.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Alan Hoal

Alan is a highly energetic and animated storyteller who has taken home numerous storytelling awards. He travels throughout the United States telling stories at festivals and retreats as well as at colleges, schools and libraries. Alan has also shared his talents at church, corporate and civic events. He has a diverse repertoire from the hilarious, to the heartwarming and inspirational. His stories are tailored for audiences of all ages.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Joan Leotta

Joan Leotta performs folklore and personal stories featuring women from history on stage. Her original story THUNDERBOLT received Honorable Mention in the Editor's Choice Award in Wordsmith Journal Magazine. Joan loves to express her imagination in writing and on stage. To learn more about Joan see her website https://joanleotta.wordpress.com

THUNDERBOLT

Weather science is not involved. In my world, a THUNDERBOLT is an explosion of inner sound that reverberates throughout one’s very being.  I've always suspected that THUNDERBOLT would be how I would recognize my true love my love. I would be hooked by one glance, accompanied by the deafening roar of instant love.

My first THUNDERBOLT experience was about two years ago in the parking lot of a local mall. THUNDER roared when a Nordic god tapped my shoulder.

I could barely hear his silky tenor asking: “Miss, miss, did you drop this?” over my heart’s pounding. I shook myself back to reality and saw that the newfound object of my affection was holding my car key in his perfect, strong hand! (Sigh!)

Barely able to move my lips, I mumbled, “Yes, it…it’s mine.” and thrust out my right hand, palm upturned to receive it. My own plain brown eyes remained locked onto his perfect blue orbs. I am not sure what the rest of my body was up to. Face slack?  Legs wobbly?

He pressed the key down onto my palm. I closed my fingers quickly so that the tips of my fingers lightly brushed his for one shining moment. Ecstasy!

When I arrived home, I dropped the key he had touched, now the key to my heart, into my keepsake box. The long unused duplicate became the utilitarian key. But I had forgotten to ask his name. THUNDERBOLT for him too? I would never know.

On Valentine’s Day, a few months after that, I followed a medium height well-chiseled stranger out of the grocery. Love was in the air but ice was on the ground. Despite my sturdy boots, as I sauntered toward him, I slipped. My legs splayed out and I landed, (splat!) on my back. Fortunately my knit ski cap protected my head.

He reached out to grab my arm to help me up.  A gallant gesture. Off balance from trying to aid me, he fell as well.  His hat-less head of blond curls was cushioned from the cement by one of my knees.

After untwining from each other, he managed to pull himself upright and help me up.  I gazed into his manly steel gray eyes and the THUNDERBOLT struck. I managed to mumble thanks and invite the guy to a nearby café.  We sipped hot chocolate and chatted. Chad and I exchanged phone numbers.

A week later, my telephone remained silent.  I called him. Two more weeks slid by. No return call.  

Perhaps my THUNDERBOLT was just an ear pop?

Over the next year and a half, THUNDERBOLTS raged about me.

A ticket stub from the all-day Lord of the Rings marathon found its way into my keepsake box when I was sure that the ticket taker was the ONE. My grocer, Gary gave me a rose and a THUNDERBOT.  He called me daily for three weeks. . I broke off that one. Quick parting, just friends—all that.

Gary called a few weeks later to thank me for breaking up. “Because of our breakup I discovered that your best friend Barbie is my soul mate! No hard feelings, right?”

I scratched Barbie’s name out of my address book.  No hard feelings?  Right!

Not long after Barbie’s perfidy, I ran into her brother, Vergil. He was the slightly nerdy older brother who had ignored us “kids”. He encouraged me to make up with Barbie. “She wants you to be her Maid of honor.”  

I plunged into the whole wedding planning thing with Barbie. Vergil often tagged along.

Vergil and I laughed a lot. At the same things. He listened when I talked and I liked listening to him. Since no THUNDERBOLT was pounding, I could actually hear what he was saying.  When my very ill and very beloved grandmother took a turn for the worse, Vergil took off from work to drive me to Pittsburgh to be with her.

Were we falling into a cliché?  Yep.

Barbie, proving herself a true friend after all, encouraged us to use her September wedding day for a joint ceremony.

As I write this, I am on my honeymoon.  THUNDERBOLT?   Not for me.  I know now that TRUE LOVE does not boom and pound; true love whispers and listens.

Joan is one of the six featured tellers at the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival Nov 3 and 4, 2017. To buy tickets click here.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Lona Bartlett

Lona Barlett is a talented storyteller, puppeteer, and educator. She is known for her work in schools, libraries, conferences, churches, festivals, and corporate events. Lona's life began in a small Catskill Mountain town where stories float down on each breeze. Her folktales, fairy tales, puppets, and personal stories reflect pieces of her life. You can learn more about Lona from her website.

 Lona is one of the six featured tellers at the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival Nov 3 and 4, 2017. To buy tickets click here.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Jon Sundell

Jon Sundell performs an exciting, bilingual mix of multicultural folk tales and folksongs accompanied on guitar, banjo, autoharp and mountain dulcimer. For over four decades he has been working with and performing for audiences of all ages and backgrounds across the United States, Europe and Latin America.  His varied background as teacher, librarian, cultural collector, organizer and advocate has helped created a warm, visceral and dynamic style he calls ”Perfect Storm Edutainment.” Find out more about Jon at his website.

Jon is one of six North Carolinian storytellers featured at the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4. Go here for more information.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Linda Goodman

Linda Goodman is an Appalachian Mountain native of Melungeon descent. She is an award winning storyteller who is known throughout the country. Learn more about Linda at her website.

Kitty Talk

          I have always loved cats. I love having a little ball of fur curled up on my lap while I scratch behind its ears and listen to the little motor inside it, the one that purrs until my fingertips tingle.

          In 1970 I was given a seal point Siamese cat. I named him Beau Garcon, and I did not expect to like him. I had seen Lady and the Tramp, and the Siamese cats in that movie were EVIL!!! Beau, however, turned out to be my dream cat. He followed me from room to room, and whenever I sat down, he jumped onto my lap immediately and stared up at me with his sky blue eyes. He loved to have his ears scratched and his purr was a lullaby. Beau was also vocal. His meows and his whyyyys filled our little house, especially when he was annoyed or excited.

          After Beau passed on, I had three other Siamese cats, and they all possessed that same sweet temperament, that same degree of affection, and that same vocal hardiness. It was impossible for me to not love them.

          When my daughter was born, however, my cats had to play second fiddle. I could hardly believe that this delightful little red-headed infant who never stopped smiling was my child. I was so fascinated with her that nothing else seemed to matter.

          Years later, though, my daughter went to bed one evening a normal kid and woke up the next morning a teenager. Being seen in the presence of her parents was a rare form of torture to her. Trying too hard to win back her affection just made things worse.

          Instead of mourning the time I had once spent with my daughter, I adopted a petite seal point Siamese cat that I named Marisa. She was the runt of her litter and had been neglected by her mother. She needed me, and I needed to be needed.

          In 1988, my father died and my mother came to live with me. Mama did not like cats. As we left her Virginia mountain home and began driving the ten hours to my home in Connecticut, she asked, “Do you still have that cat?”

          “Yes, Mama,” I told her.

          A few hours down the road, Mama said, “You know I don't like cats. They can take your breath away and smother you in your sleep.”

          “Mama, that’s an old mountain superstition,” I insisted. "Marisa sleeps with me every night and hasn't smothered me yet."

          A few more hours down the road, Mama warned me, “Cats will tear your furniture up with their sharp claws.”

          “Marisa has been with me for years and has never clawed any of my furniture,” I assured her.

          When we finally arrived at my house, I helped my mother to the kitchen door. Marisa was waiting for us. She and Mama glared at one another before Marisa retreated to the far side of the room.

          The next day, while I was making dinner, Marisa rubbed her lean body against my leg. Mama watched us with extreme distaste. “I don't see how you can stand a cat in the kitchen!” she snapped.

          “Mama,” I said sweetly, “you just don't understand that Marisa is special.”

          “What’s so special about her,” she retorted.

          “Marisa can talk,” I informed her.

          “Huh!” she barked in disbelief. “Cats can't talk!”

          As if on cue, Marisa walked slowly and elegantly to the kitchen door and cried “Meooow!”

          “See,” I told Mama, “she said 'me out'.”

          Mama, her face as pale as a ghost, gasped! “Why, it did sound like she said 'me out'!”

          I looked a Marisa and said, “No, Marisa, you can't go out.”

          “Whyyyy?” she responded.

          I looked at Mama and said, “See, she wants to know why.”

          “Why....it did sound like she asked you 'why'!” Mama was beside herself. “What else can she say?”

          “Marisa is a cat of few words, Mama,” I confided. “She mostly likes to listen. And she is real good at keeping secrets.”

          After I finished the dishes that evening, I went downstairs to the family room. As I approached the doorway, I could see Mama sitting on the sofa with Marisa curled up beside her. Marisa's sky blue eyes stared up into Mama's as Mama gently rubbed the top of Marisa's head. Mama was whispering to Marisa, telling her about my father and how hard it had been to lose him.

          They did not know that I was listening, and I did not want to interrupt this special moment. I walked back upstairs, knowing that I would have to get used to sharing Marisa's affection while Mama was with us. I hoped that would be a long, long time.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Gale Buck

Gale Buck came to Storytelling through Christmas. In addition to sharing secrets from the North Pole, Gale loves stretching simple stories until they become Tale Tales.  Winner of 2014 Bold-Faced Liars' Showdown and 2015 South Carolina Liars Champion, Gale has no trouble finding a good tale in everyday events. View more of Gale's stories at www.woodsmanstories.com.

Morning Glories

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Willa Brigham

Willa Brigham is an avid writer of short stories, poetry and songs. She is the host and TV personality of the WRAL’s Television show, “Smart Start Kids” and a nationally recognized inspiration speaker. Willa uses her many talents and contagious energy to stimulate audiences of all ages to join her on a quest for excitement, adventure and a joyous tour of your creative imagination. You can learn more about Willa from her website.

Willa is one of six North Carolinian storytellers featured at the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4. Go here for more information.

Finding Lady Bug

Chelsea Vee woke up bright and early on Saturday morning ready for a grand adventure.  Every child in the village had been invited to the Teddy Bear Celebration. It was their reward for taking part in the summer reading program sponsored by the local library.   Some of the bears were going to win prizes. She was sure her teddy bear; Lady Bug was going to win one.

She pulled on her favorite cotton candy pink jeans with a matching green stripe tee shirt with glittering stars.  She stepped into her matching sandals and smiled at herself in the mirror.  Chelsea Vee raced through the house to the family room to pick up her bear, Lady Bug. 

Lady Bug was adorable, soft and cuddly. She was made of chocolate brown fur with bright green eyes and a little red heart shaped mouth. She was dressed in a matching hat and dress of purple and pink. The hat had flowers on it to match the dress.

Chelsea Vee had washed and brushed Lady Bug the day before so she would be pretty and clean for the celebration. When she reached the family room, there was a problem. Lady Bug was nowhere to be found.

Chelsea Vee looked under chairs, behind pillows and behind the curtains. How could she go to the celebration without Lady Bug?   Everyone with a teddy bear was going to be there, including her best friend Jayda and her teddy bear, Willow.  Where was her Lady Bug?

Chelsea Vee ran to her Mom, who was preparing breakfast.

“Mom, have you seen my Teddy Bear?”

“No,” replied Mom,” Where did you have it last? Go look there.”

“I looked in the family room,” cried Chelsea Vee. “Please help me!”

Her mother said, “Look up and down and all around; see if you can see what can not be found.  I will help you as soon as I finish preparing breakfast."

Chelsea Vee began to look up and down and all around the kitchen.  She looked into the pantry, behind bottles of water, in the cabinets and under pots and pans. There was no Lady Bug.

Chelsea Vee looked out of the window and saw her Dad cutting the lawn. She ran out of the door yelling, “Dad, have you seen Lady Bug? I had her all dressed up in her hat and matching dress. I cannot find her. Will you please help me?”

 

“I have not seen your teddy bear, honey,” said Dad; “but I suggest you look in and out and all about. I will help you when I finish cutting the lawn.”

  

That was exactly what she did.  Chelsea Vee looked into every flower pot and out behind every tree.  She pulled the door open and looked all about and under the porch but there was no Lady Bug.

With big sad eyes and dripping tears, Chelsea Vee slowly walked back into the house.  She was sure she had left Lady Bug in the chair to dry.  It was the same chair her brother Jeremih like to sit in while playing games or reading.  She remembered that the quilt Meme had made for his birthday was on that chair.

She decided to take another look in the family room. Jeremih was sitting that chair playing a game when Chelsea Vee came in.

He looked up from his game to see his sister crying and asked; “Why are you so sad?” 

Chelsea told him of her lost teddy bear, Lady Bug.

 “Which one is Lady Bug?” Asked Jeremih. “You have so many bears.”

“Lady Bug is the one with the purple and pink dress and matching hat.  The one Uncle DeVante’ brought back from Puerto Rico,” said Chelsea Vee.

Jeremih said he had not seen the teddy bear but he would help her look after he got a snack. He jumped from the chair and walked toward the kitchen.

Chelsea Vee crawled into the chair to think about other places Lady Bug could be. While making herself comfortable she felt something soft and lumpy under the quilt. She quickly snatched away the quilt and there to her surprise was Lady Bug.  She squeaked with delight as she hugged the teddy bear to her. 

“There you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you”.

 Quick as a bunny Chelsea Vee was out of that chair and off to the kitchen.  

“I found my teddy bear,” she yelled to her Mom.

Mom and Jeremih were happy for her. They both gave a big cheer!  “Hooray for you!!”

Opening the back door Chelsea Vee yelled to her Dad: “I found my teddy bear!”

Dad waved as he turned the corner on the lawn mower and gave a loud hooray!

Chelsea Vee finished eating breakfast with the family and marched off down the side walk with Lady Bug in her arms.  They were on their way to the Teddy Bear Celebration at the library.  She was sure Lady Bug was going to win a prize.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Cynthia Raxter

Cindy Raxter lives in a 100 year-old house in the cotton mill town of Bynum, NC. She grew up on a farm in the mountains of North Carolina with 6 brothers and sisters. She loves to cook, spend time at the Bynum Community Garden, and take care of her five wily cats. Cindy is a professional storyteller and stand-up comedian who enjoys telling true-life stories to adults and children! Read more of Cindy's stories on her blog.

A Dog's Dog

Ever go to the grocery store and the cashier says... "how are you today?" and you really actually tell them? You're suppose to say "fine" or "good." Everyone says “fine” or “good.” When you tell them the truth - something horrible like “I totaled my car last night!!!” - the cashier gets that deer in the headlights look.... Where were the words FINE AND GOOD were in that sentence?

They roll to AutoResponse #2: they tell you something bad to make you feel better. "Well... at least it's not like my brother’s girlfriend... she totaled her mother’s car and it was a Mercedes.... " Good ole AutoResponse #2: You must never forget! Things can always be worse!

It's been a rough week. In fact I wondered how I would ever write something funny ever again. They say from great tragedy comes great comedy. Ha! If that is so this is going to be some really good comedy!! …. My dog died yesterday. Honest. She really did. She was 12 and a Jack Russel Terrier and everyone in the whole world loved her. When the lady at Harris Teeter yesterday said "HOW ARE YOU TODAY?" I lied, “Oh I am just fine!!” I didn’t want to hear AutoResponse #2! I gave that girl my VISA and got my ice cream and got out of there...!!!

I am doing better than I expected. In real words: I've only ate one box of ice cream in 24 hours. I know - amazing isn’t it?

Oh! Don't worry. I know how to cope!There is a second box in the freezer:  Double fudge chocolate brownie! Yes indeedy!!

I stood 2” from the glass at the FREEZER Section at Harris Teeter yesterday and said "Thank you baby Jesus Harris Teeter doesn't sell crack cocaine. “

They don’t give crack cocaine cute names like "Moose Tracks" or “Chunky Monkey” or "Fudge Ripple" .... that name just tickles me all over to say it. "Fudge Ripple" ... Butter pecan.... "Rocky Road" Oh so cute names! They tickle your tongue and add inches to your buttocks!!

Rascal was a dog’s dog. She once cornered a bobcat in an outhouse and wrestled with it for an hour and stole a ‘possum away from it. She ran free, every day. There was not a fence made that could hold her - or keep her out. She’d go in folks’ dog door, vacuum up leftover cat food and take a nap on their couch -- with their cat. Babies and children pulled her ears. Poked her in the eyes. Stuck their little hands in her mouth and checked out her teeth. She'd lay belly up as they poked on her. Other dogs' bad manners were instantly corrected. No viciousness required. That was her life: sleeping with cats, playing with babies, and keeping other dogs in line. Oh! And going for walks! If anyone went for a walk she went too!! But she always got home for supper at 6:30. And if I wasn’t home by 6:35, she turned over the trash can in her excitement waiting for me.

Not many of my friends are dog people though. They may even have a dog... but it's just there for the kids to play with. Like a jungle jim or xBox. So when I've talked to them this week it's... "gosh sorry you lost your shoes -- I mean dog... maybe you can get some new shoes -- I mean dog."

Or they'll say, "well anyway that was really old shoes -- I mean dog."

But the most inventive responses about Rascal are what I call the Heavenly Fantasy stories. HAND UP: I have done this myself. Several people said:  "She and Papaw are fishing in Heaven right now." Ah.... honestly -- my father didn't like Rascal very well. Rascal got on his nerves - always underfoot. He was a farm boy and dogs... well they were suppose to sleep under tractors and chase varmits. ... well... Rascal WAS good at varmits.

I know everyone is just trying to make me feel better. But you know what the truth is? What no one realizes? Me too? It's ok to feel bad.

I am going to put this on an index card and put it jn my purse so I’ll remember: It’s ok to feel bad. And on the other side of that card I am going to write what I need to remember to say: "I am sorry about your shoes. They were good shoes. I will always think of your shoes kindly."

All I know is Rascal was a great dog and I am going to smile every time I think of her. As soon as I get done eating ice cream and crying. She would go up to my 92 year old neighbor's house every day at 11 o'clock and watch the Price is Right. Mrs. Louise always ate lunch right after and she'd give Rascal a biscuit. When me and Rascal traveled, Mrs. Louise would call me to find out when we were coming home because she had leftover BISCUITS AND CORNBREAD saved for Rascal, waiting for her to come home... Mrs. Louise knows, Rascal knew - ice cream may be good - but biscuits are the answer!! :-)

Thank you Rascal. Thank you very, very much. I'm going to miss being the dog's dog's human.

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.

Voices of the NCSG - Beth Carter

Beth grew up hearing her grandfather Robert Tuttle tell this story over and over.  He never told it the same way twice but until his death at '96 he claimed the story was true.  It was difficult for her as a storyteller to write it down because as her grandfather before her, she never tells a story the same way twice.

Beth Carter shares her stories as the fictional character “Sudie Mae Carter” who lives in the mountains of NC.  Please visit her Facebook page.

Tommy Boy

Hi, my name is Bob, Bob Tuttle to be exact.  I am 17 years old and just completed my Junior year of High School.  My dad got me this job as a camp counselor for the summer at Camp Blue Ridge, an all-boys camp, yippee!!  I want you to know I am a straight up guy, no nonsense, shoot from the hip. I never lie, I don’t even stretch the truth!  Why am I telling you all this?  Well because the story I am about to tell you is unbelievable!  No one believes it but this is exactly the way it happened that hot July 4th week at camp.  

All the counselors arrived early on the Friday before the campers came on Saturday.  We each were handed a list of our assigned campers for that week.  When I received mine, there was an unusual red star right beside the name Tommy Inglehart.  I quickly questioned the reason for the mark and was told to discuss it with the director.  I rushed to the camp office for clarification.  I was informed that I was chosen out of all the other guys to be assigned as Tommy’s counselor because he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer but insisted he still be allowed to attend camp this week.  I was instructed that Tommy did not want any special treatment and just wanted to be considered a normal kid.  No one knew at that time what his life expectancy was but he had just completed his 2nd round of chemo and would probably be very weak.  Man, I was really ticked!  Why me? I don’t like to be around anyone who is sick, I’ve been this way since I was a kid.  I requested a change in assignment and was told flatly no! 

The next day I was very surprised when Tommy showed up with his mom and dad.  He was very pale with what looked like a white mop for hair.  He seemed like a pretty cool kid kinda quiet and reserved but he didn’t look like he was ready to die or anything.  He fit right in with the other kids in our cabin.  Tommy could participate in all the daily camp activities.  He could row the canoe, hike, swim in the lake and was a pretty good fisherman and archer. By the end of day two I simply had forgotten he was sick.  Big mistake!!  That was when things really started to get weird. 

Our daily routine was up at 7, dress and head to the mess hall for breakfast.   Then we rotated the rest of the morning between the craft hut, learning survival skills and a nature hike. Lunch precisely at 12:00 and then either fishing, boating, archery or swimming until supper.  After supper, the kids had some free time and then we met around the campfire and told stories and sang campfire songs. We were to be in bed and lights out by 10:00.  Let me tell you those kids were beat!!  Most were out as soon as their heads hit the pillow.  

My bed was in an alcove at the front door to the cabin to prevent any funny business after hours.  It was well known among the campers of the shenanigans of previous camper raiding other cabins in the middle of the night.

Night 2: sometime after midnight I awoke with a jerk from a deep sleep.  I sat up and I had goose bumps all over my body!!! Something was wrong I just knew it.  I jumped from my bed and immediately searched each boys bed.  When I got to Tommy’s it was empty.  I frantically began searching the cabin for him trying not to disrupt the others.  No Tommy to be found!!  I unlatched the screen door to the cabin and walked out into the dark night.  There was no moon out that night and all I had was my mini flashlight.  I didn’t want to alarm the entire camp unnecessarily so I began my search.  After seeing no sign of Tommy in the camp proper I ventured down to the lake.  My worst fear could not be happening. Drowning! My worst fear!!  All of a sudden something strange caught my eye.  It’s hard to describe this stuff to you but what I saw was a very small orb shape suspended over the lake on the other side.  The glowing orb was floating around very slowly and gently.  I dropped my flashlight and ran back to camp.  I had no idea what I was going to do and in my confusion, I ran back into our cabin instead of the intended camp directors cabin.  I was out of breath and scared half to death but when I glanced at Tommy’s bed I couldn’t believe what I saw, Tommy.  The kid was sound asleep snoring softly and safely in his bed.  Man, I was freaked out!!! Did I dream it all?  Unfortunately, the answer is no, how I wished it was just a dream.

You see the next 3 nights this nightmare continued.  I woke up sweating like a pig and knew before I looked that Tommy would not be in his bed.  I ran like a flash to the lake and night after night saw the strange apparition floating haphazardly above the lake.  The events of nights 3 through 5 occurred in the same manner, but night 6 was an entirely different thing.

You see I was afraid to tell anyone else what was happening each night with Tommy.  Only me and the director knew of his medical condition and I really thought the others would think me daft.  But I will never forget night 6.  It was the last night of camp and I was determined to get to the root of the strange events.  I forced myself to stay awake that night so that I could observe for myself what was going on.  Around midnight I heard rustling from the area of Tommy bed.  I then saw him rise from the bed wearing just his white boxers, white T shirt and white socks.  He walked right by me as if he was clueless to my presence right in front of him.  I whispered his name, Tommy, but no response. He appeared to be sleep walking as he walked straight to the screen door and I kid you not the kid walked right through that door!!!  I know it because when I followed him I pushed the door to open and it was still latched.  No lie!!!  Man, I was shaking in fear all over and it took my nervous hands a couple of seconds to flip the latch.  By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs Tommy was nowhere to be seen, but I knew where I would find him so I raced to the lake.  Yep, there it was, the orb.  Was it somehow Tommy?  Was it a reflection of the moon or some strange swamp gas or something?  I was baffled.  I just stood there watching in amazement as the thing slowly began getting closer and closer to the edge of the lake and me!!!  I began to see it more clearly as it approached me and it was to my shock Tommy.  It was Tommy and it was not Tommy!  I still don’t know today how it happened but when Tommy reached the shore he began walking back to the cabin.  I hesitantly followed him with no intention of waking him up as he climbed the steps, entered the cabin and went to his bed.  He laid down and began softly breathing in normal rhythm.  Of course, I got no sleep for the rest of the night and never took my eyes off Tommy boy.

The next morning Tommy seemed very calm and restful. No change at all in his demeanor.  His parents arrived on time and I helped him load his duffle bag into the trunk of the car.  He politely introduced me to his mom and dad and thanked me for a great week. The kid shook my hand and with a slight smile and head nod he got in the car and left.  

I thought every remaining day of that summer about Tommy.  I convinced myself that what I saw was just some figment of my imagination.  I began to doubt myself.  

On the last day of camp, after all the campers had left, our director called all the counselors into the mess hall. He thanked us all for a safe and fun filled summer and read to us several letters he had received during the summer from parents and campers.  The last letter he read was from the parents of Tommy Inglehart. The letter stated that the doctor had told his parents that in no uncertain terms was Tommy to come to camp.  They also said that Tommy insisted and his parents decided to allow him one final wish.  Mr. and Mrs. Inglehart wanted to express their thanks to the camp for accepting his application, fully knowing the risk involved, and that Tommy was so disappointed that he was not able to attend.  He had been admitted to the hospital the Thursday before camp and had passed away Saturday morning.


As my head was spinning from the news, my heart was pounding in my chest.  I felt dizzy, sick, confused.  Who or what had I encountered that hot July 4th week at Camp Blue Ridge?  I guess I may never know for sure. What do you think?

Check back weekly for more voices of the North Carolina Storytelling Guild. If you enjoy these stories, you're bound to enjoy the Tarheel Tellers Storytelling Festival on November 3 & 4, 2017, at the Andy Griffith Playhouse in Mount Airy, NC.