The 35th Annual National Storytelling Festival took place in Jonesborough this past weekend. We were so lucky to get involved in this festival beginning in 2005, our first full year in Tennessee. Each year for the last three years we have had the great fortune to be able to volunteer 6 hours of our time at the event, and in return, have gotten the full weekend pass. If not for that opportunity, we would likely never go, since it costs $155 per person for the entire weekend.
It's an interesting experience, this Storytelling Festival. Somewhere around 10,000 people descend on this bucolic town of about 3400 to listen to people tell stories through words, music, sign language, dance, parable, lies, laughter and tears. It is an emotional roller coaster, but one I would gladly stand in line for. After that first experience in 2005 we knew it would be a new tradition for us, Mr. Dewey and I.
Storytelling has a long and rich tradition in Appalachia, as it does in other parts of the world. It is so important in these parts that East Tennessee State University has a Master's program in it! Along with old time mountain music, it is the lifeblood of the region. Why, there is a master of "storytelling" right here on Stoney Creek what goes by the name of Big Red. He and his buddies gather nightly at Big Red's Produce to tell whoppers. Half the fun of a shopping trip to Red's is reading the signs he has up all over the place ("All you can eat frog legs at Richard Estep's, Friday at 6:00 p.m. Call for reservations").
And half the fun of going to the National Storytelling Festival is watching the people who come to hear the stories! For instance, there are the folks who plan their vacations around the festival, and have done so for 35 years. There are the folks who come from Alaska, Arizona, California, New York, Michigan, and yes, Jonesborough, not to mention Sodom, NC and White House, TN. One of our favorite events at the NSF is dinner. Whether you enjoy it under the tent atop the hill behind the International Storytelling Center, sitting on a bale of hay waiting for the next teller, or in the Old Quarters at a table with folks from "off", you come meet new friends and share stories.
One year, as John and I enjoyed dinner at the Old Quarters, we enlightened a couple of women from New England about the topography and geology of the area. We informed them that the Blue Ridge Mountains are the oldest mountains in the world, and 500 million years ago were twice the height of the Himalayas. After these lovely people left, a couple from Harlan, Kentucky, who had been listening quietly, said "You know, that thing you were saying about the mountains here: I've never heard that before. How does that fit into God's plan?" As John choked on his pecan pie, I just said "Well, friend, I guess you'll have to ask Him!" This year we sat with a gentleman who came from my home town of Crest Hill, Illinois, and told me about the new 55-and-over housing development on Weber Road, in what was once part of the Trustee Farm of Stateville Prison, not 3 miles from the house I grew up in.
I can't help but watch the other folks at the festival. We were enjoying one African-American storyteller, Tejumola Ologboni, as he was dancing, singing, and playing a traditional African drum. We couldn't NOT move to that beat and that energy. In front of us, though, a couple who were perhaps in their early 60s, sat, unmoved, as he performed. A few others were the same, although most were jumping in their seats with the rhythm of that Djembe drum. I thought "these folks are not into this AT ALL." What a strange and wonderful surprise it was, when Teju was done, to see this couple jump to their feet and give a rousing ovation, only to sit down again just as quickly and return to their taciturn demeanor!
One of the great personal ironies of coming to this festival was seeing Kevin Kling. We lived in Minneapolis for more than 20 years and had to move a thousand miles away to finally see Kevin live. But oh! was it worth the wait! In the three years since he first came to the NSF, he has become the darling of the festival. His Midnight Cabaret event (which, in perfect Minnesota fashion began at 10:30) sold out earlier than any cabaret in the history of the festival. He brought the house down with his feverish retelling of childhood events, turned the audience over with a heartbreaking story about a couple and a train, and then brought us all to our feet - after bringing us to our knees - with his humility and strength as he talked about what he has gained from losing the use of his only good arm. Anyone who left that tent uninspired had to have come out with a white sheet over them.
The energy that flows from this festival is like food, like sustenance. It revives a tired soul and brings light to a dark room. As Teju said, "There is no performer and there is no audience; we are one". And this oneness with the performer and the others in the audience makes the festival an event like no other. Exhausted as we were, we were also energized. Like Teju said "If you aren't dancing, don't blame your shoes!"
It's an interesting experience, this Storytelling Festival. Somewhere around 10,000 people descend on this bucolic town of about 3400 to listen to people tell stories through words, music, sign language, dance, parable, lies, laughter and tears. It is an emotional roller coaster, but one I would gladly stand in line for. After that first experience in 2005 we knew it would be a new tradition for us, Mr. Dewey and I.
Storytelling has a long and rich tradition in Appalachia, as it does in other parts of the world. It is so important in these parts that East Tennessee State University has a Master's program in it! Along with old time mountain music, it is the lifeblood of the region. Why, there is a master of "storytelling" right here on Stoney Creek what goes by the name of Big Red. He and his buddies gather nightly at Big Red's Produce to tell whoppers. Half the fun of a shopping trip to Red's is reading the signs he has up all over the place ("All you can eat frog legs at Richard Estep's, Friday at 6:00 p.m. Call for reservations").
And half the fun of going to the National Storytelling Festival is watching the people who come to hear the stories! For instance, there are the folks who plan their vacations around the festival, and have done so for 35 years. There are the folks who come from Alaska, Arizona, California, New York, Michigan, and yes, Jonesborough, not to mention Sodom, NC and White House, TN. One of our favorite events at the NSF is dinner. Whether you enjoy it under the tent atop the hill behind the International Storytelling Center, sitting on a bale of hay waiting for the next teller, or in the Old Quarters at a table with folks from "off", you come meet new friends and share stories.
One year, as John and I enjoyed dinner at the Old Quarters, we enlightened a couple of women from New England about the topography and geology of the area. We informed them that the Blue Ridge Mountains are the oldest mountains in the world, and 500 million years ago were twice the height of the Himalayas. After these lovely people left, a couple from Harlan, Kentucky, who had been listening quietly, said "You know, that thing you were saying about the mountains here: I've never heard that before. How does that fit into God's plan?" As John choked on his pecan pie, I just said "Well, friend, I guess you'll have to ask Him!" This year we sat with a gentleman who came from my home town of Crest Hill, Illinois, and told me about the new 55-and-over housing development on Weber Road, in what was once part of the Trustee Farm of Stateville Prison, not 3 miles from the house I grew up in.
I can't help but watch the other folks at the festival. We were enjoying one African-American storyteller, Tejumola Ologboni, as he was dancing, singing, and playing a traditional African drum. We couldn't NOT move to that beat and that energy. In front of us, though, a couple who were perhaps in their early 60s, sat, unmoved, as he performed. A few others were the same, although most were jumping in their seats with the rhythm of that Djembe drum. I thought "these folks are not into this AT ALL." What a strange and wonderful surprise it was, when Teju was done, to see this couple jump to their feet and give a rousing ovation, only to sit down again just as quickly and return to their taciturn demeanor!
One of the great personal ironies of coming to this festival was seeing Kevin Kling. We lived in Minneapolis for more than 20 years and had to move a thousand miles away to finally see Kevin live. But oh! was it worth the wait! In the three years since he first came to the NSF, he has become the darling of the festival. His Midnight Cabaret event (which, in perfect Minnesota fashion began at 10:30) sold out earlier than any cabaret in the history of the festival. He brought the house down with his feverish retelling of childhood events, turned the audience over with a heartbreaking story about a couple and a train, and then brought us all to our feet - after bringing us to our knees - with his humility and strength as he talked about what he has gained from losing the use of his only good arm. Anyone who left that tent uninspired had to have come out with a white sheet over them.
The energy that flows from this festival is like food, like sustenance. It revives a tired soul and brings light to a dark room. As Teju said, "There is no performer and there is no audience; we are one". And this oneness with the performer and the others in the audience makes the festival an event like no other. Exhausted as we were, we were also energized. Like Teju said "If you aren't dancing, don't blame your shoes!"
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