National Storytelling Festival 2002

Hi all, I came coasting into my driveway around 7:00 last night (Sunday). Each time I go to Jonesborough, TN, it takes on its own character and becomes part of the memory chain. My friend Cathy Gregory from St. Louis and I traveled for the first time together. She has a chain of memory swatches that she wears around her neck. She has over 20 swatches of calico from the many festivals she has attended over the years. Each one congers up memories of festivals past. This year's swatch has its own unique pattern and deep-sea blue color.

We stayed at a B and B that sat atop a rocky top. We awoke in the mornings to a supersplendiforous sunrise that 

cast a wide arc of sky blue pinks and purples. The surrounding mountains rose in layers of grays, blues, and charcoals  

The tall trees that stood sentinel in the yard looked like ancient priests  wrapped in inky, black robes while their 

spindly arms lifted in praise of another day.Coming "home" to Jonesborough was like catching the wave. 

Starting at one end and coasting to the other our senses were assaulted with sweet maple covered pancakes and sausage,

 sticky sugary Krispy Kreames, hot popping corn, cinnamon and apples, buttery biscuits and buns from the bistros

 and bakeries, and the food court's montage of Greek, Chinese, and Mexican cuisines. Old familiar faces (Riverwind 

and Gateway tellers, Doug Lipman, Angela Lloyd, Ed Stivender) new friendly faces (Margaret Copeland, Nancy Streck,

 Amy Douglas) swam amongst a sea of hurried ones making their way to a distant shore to hear more stories. 

We stop only long enough to administer a first-aid hug that held all the memories of past workshops, festivals, and 

conferences that were a part of the twosome's history. We swam in and out of the town's hidey holes re-emerging 

each time with packages of full of puppets, books, and wild, outlandish hats. A school of colorful StoryTell-ers 

amassed in the food tent waving their tell-tale handkerchiefs of blue, red, and green. We took pictures lest we never 

forget the faces we longed to see while reading their posts.

But the true magic of this mystic, mythical adventure was in the tents. The tellers told, the stories flowed, and the 

imaginations soared. To pick favorites would be like asking a five-year old to pick the best jar of candy at Mr Bulky's. 

I can truly say that this year I was never disappointed. Each year reaffirms what I already know but am reluctant to 

do...to stretch myself towards new ways of telling...to tell "out of the box" that I have so carefully constructed. It was 

nigh on impossible to hear everyone, but here is a rundown of those I did see:

Heather Forest - Her voice becomes stronger and stronger, the notes from her guitar sound like tiny bells at times,  

her bardic weaving of story and song 

Bobby Norfolk - The tent swelled with the applause of the children as Bobby told his trademark rap 

"The 3 Billy Goats Gruff" and the antics of Anansi.

Barbara McBride Smith introduced us again to her family of mythic, down-home good ole boys and her real-life 

family contained in a button box. I think I could smell that button box from where I sat.

Bill Harley batted a thousand with his family story about "unvelcome" nightly creatures. We returned once again with 

Bill to travel to Zanzibar in a car.

Bill Lepp gets a tongue lashing for his hitching a ride rather unexpectedly aboard the bitimous coal train. Watch out 

for this guy...he's going to new heights in his tall tales.

O Jean Moss - I met Jean at the San Diego Conference. Her warmth and beauty is captured in every word. Her face

 is a nuance of expressions. Her story of the raindrop reminds us all of the potential we have to become something totally

 different yet still not lose who we are.

Michael Parent had us travel up the inroads of Maine holding our sides with laughter while ducking the calling cards

of seagulls.

Johnny Moses - a good girl/bad girl story about a necklace. It was a deliciously disgusting tale that had the audience

 think twice about licking pistachio ice cream. Yeachhh!

Don Davis somehow topped Johnny Moses with his brother's tiptoeing through the cow paddies. He also pieced 

together a mosaic of life in the fifties with a chrome and gray-marbled table and a mason jar filled with peas and carrots.

Kathryn Wyndom - the grand and gracious lady of Selma told about her strong and wise and sometime sassy aunt 

(sans any ghosts).

Carmen Deedy who delights in her stories, letting the emotions of the moment sweep over her and her listeners with 

every cleverly crafted story that spills from her "Cubana" heritage.

Susan Klein - who so deserves the name...The Devine Ms Klein gave us a whole new appreciation for waitresses. 

They are constantly changing "rolls" as they do everything from busing tables to armchair psychiatry.

David Holt called up Granny on the Hog-a-phone and others from his 

collection of personal interviews with old-time musicians and tellers.

Syd Lieberman is the storytellers' storyteller. He does it all... poignant, funny personal stories, tear rendering 

historical narratives, finely crafted folktales, and emotionally interpreted literary stories. He is a Harvard Man after all.

There were so many tellers I not only didn't get to hear (Jim May, Dan Keding, Doc O'Connell, Elizabeth Ellis, et al)  

I never even saw them  (Laura Simms, Willy Claflin, Gayle Ross, et al) . I only heard from the grapevine what great

 stories I missed. No, I didn't miss any stories! I heard what I needed to hear this weekend.

I also visited the new storytelling center. We can be very proud of this building as it becomes a part of our history 

and the streetscape of Jonesborough. Jimmy Neal Smith and Nancy Kavanaugh and the rest of their staffs were 

highly visible throughout the event. They always take the time to greet me and make me welcome back into the arms. 

I feel honored to be a teensy-tiny part of NSN and NSF.

Time to come home and sew my swatch onto my memory quilt for I don't save them. I pin the memories onto 

my heart's sleeve. I know they are there. And on cold winter nights I wrap myself up in them to sleep, perchance 

to dream of the next  National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, Tennessee.

Marilyn Kinsella