vol.21, no.1 heart of a traveller - storytelling toronto · 2019. 2. 11. · 2 pippin - winter 2018...

Pippin - Winter 2018 1

INSIDE

Heart of a Traveller by Dawne McFarlane .................................................... 1

Editorial by Dawne McFarlane ............................................................................... 2

Rejuvenating Ceilidh Culture by Dougie Mackay ....................................... 3

Spelling the Spell OUT by Michelle Tocher ...................................................... 6

Sun in Eyes (poem) by Adele Koehnke .......................................................... 8

Trinidad Mythical Creatures by Natasha Charles .............................. 9

A Lady Who Mattered by Natasha Charles ..................................................... 10

A Storyteller s̀ Odyssey by Paul Nash ........................................................... 10

Hildy Stollery by Lorne Browne .............................................................................. 11

The Order of Canada by Jan Andrews ............................................................. 12

The Natural Storyteller (book) ..................................................................... 13

Beautiful Illusion a story retold by chris cavanagh ............................................... 16

Events ......................................................................................................................... 17

Vol.21, No.1

Heart of a Traveller by Dawne McFarlane

It is October in Perthshire, Scotland. The

hills are deep russet, green, and gold. I am

walking with Jess Smith in picturesque

Glen Lednock where she lives with her

husband Dave. We pass by a few houses,

and then there is only the glen. The col-

ours change moment by moment as the

clouds move over the hills. A brisk wind

and fine mist freshens my face. I breathe

(Continued on page 14)

Jess Smith in the hills of Perthshire, Scotland

2 Pippin - Winter 2018

**NOTA BENE**

PIPPIN is the newsletter of

Storytelling Toronto

The Storytellers School of Toronto is a registered, non-

profit organization that

provides a creative home for

a community of storytellers,

listeners, and story-explorers. Our mission

is to inspire, encourage and support

storytelling for listeners, tellers and those

who have not yet heard. Since 1979 we have

been providing courses and workshops;

holding gatherings, festivals and events to

celebrate and present the art of

storytelling; supporting the creative work of

storytellers; and producing publications

about storytelling and storytellers.

Pippin Editor Dawne McFarlane

Design/Layout chris cavanagh

Listings Marylyn Peringer

Program Leaders Festival Director: Dan Yashinsky

Resident Teachers: Marylyn Peringer, Lynda Howes

StoryFusion Cabaret: Heather Whaley and the Backseat

Balladeers

Website:

[email protected]

Board of Directors 2017

Operations Manager & Coordinator Cristina Pietropaolo

Financial Administrator Lorie Griesman

© Storytelling Toronto (formerly Storytellers School of Toronto)

Ph: 416-656-2445 Fax: 416-656-8510

www.storytellingtoronto.org

601 Christie St., Suite #173

Toronto On M6G 4C7

[email protected]

In October I attended a Global Gathering

of storytelling activists in Edinburgh, Scot-

land. I was invited to join delegates and

participants from 37 countries to explore

the role of storytellers during this critical

time for our planet. Our work focused

on the themes of The Earth Charter. The

Earth Charter is, in essence, an initiative

that offers an ethical/moral compass of

values for people around the world to

use to work towards a just, sustainable

and peaceful world. “It is a vision of hope

and a call to action.”

For three days we shared stories, ide-

as, tools, strategies, challenges, joys, tears

and laughter. Our experiences across

cultures, places, and generations revealed

that storytelling is more vital than ever in

connecting people. It is one of the most

powerful ways of changing the way peo-

ple see each other and the world, and

with this comes great responsibility. Tra-

ditional oral stories, we discovered, are

the ones closest to the values of The

Earth Charter. They are the most authen-

tic sources of this holistic worldview.

We know that we are at a tipping

point and sustainability is not enough.

What is needed now is radical hospitality,

vigilant stewardship, love in action. The

wisdom in the old stories guides us in

weaving new narratives for a re-imagined

Earth. The “old ways” discovered anew

continually bring us back into the present

with hope for the future. In these pages,

you will find love in action; past, present,

and looking to the future.

Pippin Editorial—Winter 2018

Sarah Abusharar

Karen Blair

Dorothy Lichtblau

Nick Miceli

John Page

Paul Robert (President)

Molly Sutkaitis

Every Friday night

since 1978 storytell-

ers and listeners have

been gathering in

downtown Toron-

to. Each evening is

hosted by an accom-

plished storytell-

er. Anyone is wel-

come to tell a story.

Every Friday night is

unique.

Time: 8:00 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. 2 Sussex Street, Toronto.

www.1001fridays.org

Suggested donation: $5.00 Innis College Café

(corner St. George, one block south of Bloor St. W. St. George Subway - St. George St. exit)


A small storytelling resurgence in

the Scottish Highlands

by Dougie Mackay

My granny had the art of blethering, and

indeed my father has it too. Being from

the Highlands of Scotland, it’s not partic-

ularly unusual. An oral culture where

storytellers and seanachies were the liv-

ing libraries and entertainment is in easy

living memory; where folk knew, trusted

and depended upon one another. Tightly

knit communities, making subsistence

from the land and little more. They had

no choice but to help each other out.

People would gather around the peat

cutting, or the sheep clipping. Drams,

food and the craic would be shared. Sto-

ries travelled as people gathered, which

was often. Amidst local tales of general

amusement, curious characters and the

way things used to be, came forth the

occasional faery tale, selkie song, or warn-

ing of a lochan in which a kelpie resided.

No wonder my dad claims often that “the

worst sheep clipping I’ve ever been to was

still better than the best wedding.”

So, a generation or so on, as Europe

undergoes a storytelling renaissance, the

Highlands is at the forefront of that move-

ment, right? Well, not really. No doubt

there are still folk telling tales in their

homes and even more with fond memo-

ries of such, but if looking for a live story-

telling scene around Inverness (the High-

land capital), you could blink and miss it. I

spent several years in Edinburgh before I

was even aware “storytelling” was a thing.

Stumbling across it in its modern incarna-

tion I instantly caught the “story bug”.

Something deeply familiar at first glimpse.

An echo of hogmanay fireside celebra-

tions, kitchen table ceilidhs and tales at my

own childhood bedside...yet edgy, contem-

porary, fresh. The storyteller fulfilling a

role that I’d only ever associated

with musicians, rock bands & hip

hop MCs. It caught me there and

then, dragged me willingly back

through a thorny bush, cast me

between the worlds on a flash of

lightning, and with my hands

cupped at the well at the world’s

end I lapped up the clear waters

that revealed the world anew. Sto-

ries weaving pathways around the

planet were clear and exciting, but

at this early stage of the storytelling

journey something directed me

home. Brimming with much more

enthusiasm than experience or skill,

I went in search of Highland story-

telling culture.

I noted with alarm as one distin-

guished storyteller died soon after

my interest was perked. Another

was gone by christmas. Still the

wider Highlands were and are

graced with a number of distin-

guished elders, tradition bearing


Rejuvenating Ceilidh Culture

Dougie in Forres

Seanachie Seoras Macpherson


seanachies like Seoras Macpherson, in-

trepid folk collectors like Bob Pegg, kitch-

en fear an taighs like Ian Stephen, plus

some notable others. Whilst the scene in

Edinburgh increasingly spans the ages, it

seemed in the north it was barely on my

generation’s radar.

I sensed a mix of urgency, as I noted

several regional lore keepers and story-

tellers slipping from this world. The rem-

nants of a living tradition, a breathing cul-

ture relevant to my particular patch of

Scotland, were drifting silently towards

nostalgic memory. As people ascended

from digi-box

to netflix, and

young people

emulated the

next London

indie band,

the stories

dozed in the

minds of the

older genera-

tions, gather-

ing dust in the

temporal

lobes. If a

story isn’t

being told,

what life does

it have?

So what to

do? How to

instigate in-

terest and

sow seeds for

a Highland

resurgence? I

went with

what I knew,

and pitched

into the local

events calendar with the Inverness Story-

telling Festival. Being on the Scottish sto-

rytelling scene for about 5 minutes, unlike-

ly to draw a crowd extending much be-

yond my own kin, and with a grand budget

of £300 from the Scottish Storytelling

Centre, it was going to take some kind of

special charm, forgotten magic or dose of

good fortune to make a success of this

naive enterprise. But the intention was

clear, and the first steps were taken.

In classic story fashion, I travelled to

the misty Isle of Skye, to the former dru-

idic centre of Glendale, and sought court

with an old wisdom keeper, Seoras Mac-

pherson. Trading whisky and a keen listen-

ing ear for tales of giants, warrior Queens,

bardic arts, resistance to the Highland

clearances, and old ways of being. I left

with the glowing encouragement that

comes of having an elder ally and gate-

keeper. Seoras dedicates much of his time

to sharing the Scottish traditions around

storytelling. Graciously, with an interest in

kindling the light of storytelling in the

Highlands, he agreed that a festival in In-

verness would be a fine thing indeed. I had

an elder statesman, revered teller with a

strong presence and huge repertoire of

tales. I knew that even if no one else was

up for it, with the two of us on board we

could do something.

Well that first year was special (my

brother even described it as life changing,

although he has been known to exagger-

ate). In 2015 I over-programmed and

overestimated the town’s appetite for

tales (or underestimated the need for

advertising). Nevertheless, we had a fine

festival with several well attended events,

the quality was high throughout, and the

stand out moment was the “stories and

stovies” on the Saturday eve. An age old

combination of food and tales and an ec-

lectic audience of varied age and nationali-

ty. Local electricians mixed with french

“couch-surfers,” students with pensioners.

Seeing the aliveness in people’s eyes as

they gazed at the tellers, bellies filled and

happy, showed me that we were doing

something right.

The following year, aware of the

“Scottishness” of storytellers in the first

year, I determined to add an international

flavour with Finnish storyteller Markus

Luukkonen (appearing as if by chance),

Moroccan Gnawa music from locally

based internationally renowned artist

Omar Afif,

and Peruvian

music and

dance from

my then flat-

mate, Sergio.

As with the

first year, we

stretched a

small budget

a long way,

cashing in

favours

where we

could, at-

tracting tell-

ers who

simply want-

ed to partici-

pate, bound

by a curiosity

and a willing-

ness to make

it happen.

We shared

special eve-

nings, with a

full house on

two consec-

utive Saturdays as a wave of new people

attended, curious about this eclectic

bunch of young and old, from near and far

telling stories and occasionally singing a

song. As we stretched things over 9 days

it was exhausting, but very worth it.

This year has been a bit different. Go-

ing with the Scottish Storytelling Centre’s

preference of us hosting an international

teller within their nine day program, we

sadly missed out on Seoras‘ presence as

he was due at the bigger event in Edin-

burgh, and scaled things back a little. We

(Continued from page 3)


Ceilidh in Inverness


did, however, benefit from that hand of

fate which sent two fine storytellers our

way who combine storytelling with an

interest in the natural world; Dawne

McFarlane and Georgiana Keable. Having

developed a storytelling show on

“rewilding” (a hot topic in the UK, and

personally inspired by a trip to North

America) it made sense to

play that hand and organize a

Natural Storytelling Festi-

val. And so it evolved. A

night of story and song in

Inverness, followed by a full

day of natural storytelling

with family sessions, story-

telling workshops, and an

evening storytelling cabaret

in the neighbouring town of

Forres. It was simple but

effective, and we were met

with great response on both

days.

The planned friday event

was rich and alive with na-

ture inspired stories, songs

and music- but in many ways

the event started in earnest

after that. People brought

out their instruments and

carried the ceilidh on until

closing time. With the full

day event ahead an early

night would have been the

sensible option, but the at-

mosphere was irresistible. It

felt like that eve brought out

some of the best in Inver-

ness, and highlighted how

the stories can complement

the strong musicianship the

town still carries.

On the Sunday, tired yet

content, I walked with

Dawne & Georgiana along

the stony beach of the

Moray Firth, bright blue skies above shim-

mering waters, the mountains rising rug-

ged on the Western horizon. A heron

screeched a guttural complaint as we

twice disturbed her fishing, we quizzed the

identity of one wading bird with a curved

beak, a curlew being my best guess, as a

red kite circled above. We mused on sto-

rytelling, life and everything in our respec-

tive parts of the world. In amongst the

exhaustion and mystery as to whether I’d

covered the basic festival costs, there was

a clear sense of satisfaction.

What we’ve achieved in these three

years is modest, yet significant. Each year

we see ways to improve, casting seeds and

noting which take root, sprout and flower.

Somehow drawing from a simple, age test-

ed methodology feels radical amidst the

prevalent hi-tec, fast paced modern social

norms. Gathering under principles com-

mon yet near forgotten, familiar yet sel-

dom practiced. The essence of the ceilidh,

gathering in a circle and sharing. Bringing

stories to life that offer gnarled and time-

less reflections on a rapidly changing

world. Inclusion and equality in the centre.

Like my dad says, “you’re kind of rein-

venting the wheel here, the ceilidh always

worked.” So it did, and does. We’re not

doing anything clever or particularly origi-

nal here. We’re just rejuvenating an old

style of gathering that people still yearn

for, and riding on the renewed interest in

storytelling. I love the idea of the new

wave of storytelling landing up here; for

hip youngsters to be inspired by ancient

tales and hearthside gatherings, eagerly

getting on the phone to grannies, great

aunts and uncles, re-

questing any old tales

they may be up for shar-

ing. I wish I’d caught my

granny in time.

Highland hospitality

lives on into the 21st

century, welcoming

friends from far and wide

to come and share a tale,

song, or something a bit

different. Visitors from

Canada are always wel-

come! Folk of all ages,

abilities and creeds shar-

ing tales rooted in one

landscape or another,

and all in the spirit of the

ceilidh where everyone

has something to bring.

It’s a way the people up

here know well, at least

in memory. It’d make me

very happy for such a

culture to re-emerge,

with story sharing at its

heart. These old tales re-

emerging with fresh life in

them; bringing a touch of

magic, mystery and natu-

ral sense to the every-

day. From our initial festi-

val explorations, it seems

to make other people

very happy too.

Dougie Mackay is a

Scottish based storyteller

with a background in Com-

munity Education. As well as organizing story-

telling events such as the Inverness Storytell-

ing Festival he tells a range of tales from the

Scottish Highlands and around the world. He

has devised and performed several longer

storytelling shows such as “Tales from the

Wild Edge,” and “Witches, Wee Folk and

Watery Beasties,” blending personal narrative

with folk tales. Inspired by an outdoor trip to

Canada in 2015, he’d love to come back and

exchange some stories.

wildedgestory.wordpress.com


by Michelle Tocher

These days I've been thinking a great deal about spells. What

sort of power is running through us when we cast negative spells

in life?

I’ve heard many people say that it feels good to express their

rage because they get their power back. The problem is that all-

too often the rage gets discharged on an innocent third party.

Who can forget the 13th wise woman who crashes the party

and curses the baby because she hasn't been invited to the feast?

In fairy tales, words have power. The curse of an angry witch

can turn a king into a frog, or sentence a child to death at the

age of 15. Dark motives craft dangerous curses, ballistic missiles

that destroy lives. If you don’t want to cause harm, you have to

mind your words.

Even characters who speak unconsciously, out of aggravation

or frustration, can do a lot of damage. When the queen in the

Grimm's story The Raven gets annoyed by her crying baby, she

says: "Oh, I wish you would just grow wings and fly away!"

Poof! The baby turns into a raven and flies out the window.

The same thing happens in real life. Powered by feelings of

outrage, envy, or fear, words fly out of our mouths before we

can catch them. The worst spells de-humanize. They cause us to

think of ourselves as damaged or diminished, and we can live in

those prisons for years.

I came under a spell on my very first day of school. In a

spelling class, actually! I told this story in the Immanence Journal

interviews, and at the 2017 Storytelling Festival, so I'll keep it

brief, but here’s what happened. The teacher gave each child in

the classroom a little exercise book and a packet of crayons. As

she spoke, I pulled out a blue crayon and drew a blue line down

the spine of every page in my book -- just to make it my own.

Suddenly the teacher appeared at my desk. She snatched my

book, marched me up to the front of the class, and told me to

open my book so that everyone could see the blue line.

Then she taught the children a spell. “Shame shame double

shame!”

The children boisterously repeated the chant, doing a fist-

over-fist gesture to really drive home the “double shame.”

Back to my desk I went, humiliated.

I carried on through school and the incident slipped out of

memory. I just had this feeling that if I didn’t follow instructions

to the LETTER, I would get yelled at or ridiculed.

In first year university, I decided to major in English litera-

ture, and in one course, I wrote an impassioned essay on the

poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley. After the marked papers had

been handed out, the professor took me aside and said: “Let me

give you some advice. If you want to guarantee getting A's in

literature, take all that creativity of yours, put it in a pack on

your back and never look at it again. Listen to what your profes-

sors are saying, and write what you know they want to hear.”

I was appalled and soon abandoned English literature, reject-

ing its ‘subjectivity’ for the more factually-based discipline of

history. In my second year, I veered into the history of science. I

became interested in the great paradigm shifts of history, and

the power of dominant world-views to reach deeply into hearts

and minds.

One day, one of my professors called me into her office. She

was a brilliant rationalist, a feminist who wore trousers and sat

on the desk cross-legged when she lectured.

“I really enjoyed reading your paper,” she said when I walked

in. “There are some really good lines in here!” She proceeded to

flip through the pages, reading aloud every metaphor I had used.

It took me a few moments to realize that she was LAUGHING

at them as she stroked them out with her red pen. In her pres-

ence I felt so shamefully feminine. On my way to the elevator I

thought, “I will never use another metaphor again.”

I stripped all metaphors from my papers (and frills from my

closet) yet I could not stop myself from writing poetry. Some

deep interior voice insisted on speaking. It rose up out of si-

lence. It was with me in my lonely places. It was an old voice

that spanned histories and lifetimes.

Yet the poet was a stranger to me.

Kahlil Gibran understood the strangeness of the poet to him-

self and the world. He wrote that the poet feels “there is no one


Spelling the Spell OUT


in the universe who understands the language” he speaks. Yet he

insisted that the poet must never deny her own nature. A poet

is a rebel, he said, and must speak truly. He thought that the

worst crimes in literature were “imitation, distortion, and con-

formity.” (Quoted, Andrew Dib Sherfan, A Third Treasury of

Kahlil Gibran, 247-248)

Life went on. I got an M.A. in the history of science, and an-

other one in journalism. I married, landed a job in advertising,

and bought a house in the suburbs. I continued to write poetry

but felt split-off from that part of myself, increasingly trapped in

a two-dimensional life. Then one day, the rebel poet spoke out. I

wrote a poem called The Poet and Lady Shame, which began

with these lines:

In a hovel on the other side

of the river that parts

the limbs of the city

from its heart

the outcasts carry out their lives.

I pay them a visit from time to time:

the Poet and Lady Shame.

The poet is lonely, caught off

like the limbs of the starfish

to write these lines into the wide void

while the waters run out of the world

and the earth cracks, old and bewildered…

And when it is done, and the thing conceived

she flies out, only to run headlong into Lady Shame

who leaves through and leaves her

jangling away with her jumble of keys.

She cannot get around her into the world.

She keeps her dobermans at the gate.

Who is this Lady Shame figure, I wondered? In the latter part

of the poem I challenged her, and a dam burst. I started to

dream huge dreams, a torrent of pent-up water rushing for free-

dom.

I didn’t know what to do with the dreams. They were so

overwhelming I refused to sleep. I developed insomnia, terrified

that my psyche was staging a coup. I tried to hold myself togeth-

er but I was starting to crack. My eyes twitched, my mouth

twitched. I felt like a porcelain doll about to explode.

Then one day I invited my aunt out for lunch. I had only seen

her a couple of times. She hadn’t had much to do with the fami-

ly, but now that we were living in the same city, I became curi-

ous about her. We went for Chinese food and sat side by side at

a round table. I asked her to tell me about her life. She wasn’t

very forthcoming and finally she said, “You know, Michelle, I'm

really not all that interesting. I’ve led a very conventional life. But

I do have a rich inner life.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I felt as if she were opening a

secret garden door.

“Well, I dream,” she said. “I record my dreams in my jour-

nal.”

“How do you do that?.

“Well, I open my journal," she said, using her hands to

demonstrate, "And then I draw a line down the center of the

page. I write my dreams on one side and my daily events on the

other. Just noting things, nothing elaborate. I don’t analyze what

I've written. Then I close the book and let the two sides speak

to me as I go about my day.”

Wow!

Needless to say, I immediately started a dream journal. I

drew line after line down the center of the pages, and the flow

of dreams became less terrifying, more informative. I started to

see the relationship between the two sides of the page, and so

began my life’s work. For over 30 years, I have been recording

my dreams and exploring the relationship between the deep

mind (as it is expressed through dreams, myths, and fairytales)

and daily life. I have had remarkable dreams over the years. They

have lit the darkest passages and have inspired many of my own

mythic stories.

And so the story ends. At least, I thought it had ended when

I began preparing to tell my spell-breaking story at the 2017 Sto-

rytelling Festival. I memorized the Lady Shame poem so that I

could include it, and then, as part of my preparation, I went for a

voice-movement session with a colleague. He asked me how

well I knew this figure of Lady Shame. Might I wish to give voice

to her?

Sure, I thought. Why not? As I began to connect wih her, I

felt the power of this incredibly judgemental figure lodged inside

me. I let her out and she strutted around the room speaking her

mind. I didn't find her entirely convincing. Yet after the session

ended, I went home disturbed. Would Lady Shame sabotage my

presentation at the festival? Worry soon morphed into anxiety. I

used to have debilitating performance anxiety. I could see Shame





standing on the sidelines with her arms crossed, her eyebrows

arched and a smug “I told you so” smirk on her face....

Was I still under her spell?

The anxious voices grew stronger, and no amount of reason

would shut them down. After days of battling, I took hold of

myself. I could NOT let the spell get the better of me. I thought

about the protagonist in the fairy tale I was going to tell. The

young man in The Crystal Ball keeps moving towards his goal of

freeing the princess who is the Beauty of the World. He is re-

solved to free her, regardless, and in so doing, he gains more

and more freedom to move. "Keep going forward," I told myself.

But my thoughts were a whirlwind. “Lady Shame won’t let

you speak that poem out loud. She'll find a way to sabotage

you!”

Then it occurred to me that in the fairy tales, an interesting

reversal takes place in the course of breaking a spell. You have

to take hold of it. Turn it upside down or inside out. Unspell it.

If the poem is the poison, then the poem is also the medi-

cine.

I walked to my bookshelf and picked up a book that had

been sitting there for some time. Saved by a Poem, by Kim

Rosen. As I began to internalize her beautiful book, I started

thinking about the poetry I love. Poems that give me faith and

courage. Lines from Walt Whitman’s Song of Myself. The stead-

ying words of William Wordsworth. In Lines Written A Few

Miles Above Tintern Abbey, he wrote…

...this prayer I make,

Knowing that Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,

Through all the years of this our life, to lead

From joy to joy: for she can so inform

The mind that is within us, so impress

With quietness and beauty, and so feed

With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,

Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,

Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all

The dreary intercourse of daily life,

Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb

Our cheerful faith that all which we behold

Is full of blessings.

I learned the lines, chanted them, walked with them every

day as the festival presentation approached. They infused me

with a calming remembrance. There was no space in me for fear

of shame. Nor was Lady Shame anywhere in the room when I

told my story.

The fairy tale heartily supports the activism of the heart. The

protagonist is always having to choose where to put her faith.

Do I put my faith in others or in myself? We can find all sorts of

evidence for the validity of a long-held negative conviction. But

to counteract it, we have to draw on what we know to be true.

And act on that faith. Make-believe until the spell breaks.

I'm incredibly inspired by people who keep the faith in them-

selves, however impossible their tasks appear to be. My sister's

injured brain doesn't enable her to read and write but that

doesn't stop her. She loves words. I’ve never seen her more

focused and attentive than when she is writing letters and

sounding out words. Many therapists and educators have “given

up on her” but she hasn’t given up on herself. She is breaking

spells every time she’s spelling, and one day, the spell will be

broken. She’ll crack that nut in this lifetime or in the next.

In any case, she’s free.

As Walt Whitman wrote in Song of Myself (verse 20):

I exist as I am, that is enough,

If no other in the world be aware I sit content,

And if each and all be aware I sit content.

One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is my-

self,

And whether I come to my own to-day or in ten thousand or ten

million years,

I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait.


SUN IN EYES by Adele Koehnke

The early morning sun bores through the bus windows.

A tiny girl

Sits across from me.

She picks up a newsprint flyer from a seat.

She upside downs it

She right side ups it.

She put her head right into it.

She is perhaps three years old.

Whenever the bus goes over a bump

(There are many bumps)

She yells “Ouch” loudly and clearly.

Every time.

Her mother tries to move her out of the sun.

The child refuses to move.

She wants be mad at Mr. Sun and yell “Ouch”.

She has learned young

That sometimes we do not want solutions.

We just want to be mad.


by Natasha Charles

Trinidad tales are told as personal tales.

This happened to me, to my neighbour, to

my friend’s brother, just over there, so

near to you...

Winning the Alice Kane storytelling

award in 2015 to explore Trinidad tales

has been a curious journey. So many Trini-

dadians were eager to get on board with

this venture and to share their tales of the

mythical denizens they or their elders

grew up with. I still have a list of partici-

pants who are ‘too busy right now but

soon...’

But the ones I did get to meet... Tale

after tale of haunted spots, silk trees to

avoid as they were the favorite hanging

out spots of jumbies, tales of places chil-

dren were warned to avoid, feared neigh-

bours who perhaps were the diablesse,

because... and their story follows. One

participant grew up most of his life in To-

ronto, far out of range of these diabolical

creatures. Yet every night, without fail, his

Trinidadian born and raised grandmother

closed his bedroom window in case a sou-

couyant flew in.

These tales have largely disappeared

with the arrival of electricity and urbaniza-

tion. Haunted trees and roads lose their

appeal for denizens once these roads are

brightly lit all night or a mall and parks

surround a once haunted tree. But these

creatures linger yet, in rural areas and in

the memories of the elderly.

For these tales were and are, for a

huge part, cautionary tales. The island,

especially the forested secluded areas, was

dangerous for kids and adults. At night,

those dark areas could be hiding any num-

ber of perils. What better way to keep

people safe but to let them know that,

around the corner, in the bush, near that

secluded copse of trees, is something

waiting to do you harm?

Jumbies, spirits of the dead, who like

to play in trees (usually cotton) and do

mischief to passer-bys, les Diablesses,

young, beautiful women distinguished by

their one cloven hoof, who lure men to

their deaths, lagahoos (werewolves) and

soucoyants (vampires), the denizens of

Trinidad are an intriguing tapestry of sto-

rythreads woven from many worlds, like

the cultural fabric of Trinidad. Some de-

tails, such as holy water and Christian

prayers being often used to expel the evil

creature, are telling evidence of borrowed

legends from adopted religions from the

ruling cultures. Other bits of lore, such as

putting yampee (mucus) from a dog’s eye

on your own as protection, or the lagahoo

appearing in many forms, seem exclusive

to the Caribbean islands.

And questions remain to be explored.

Why do variations of these creatures exist

on the Caribbean islands but not in other

parts of the world? Is la Diablesse, with

her goat attributes, a throwback to Pan?

Was an old tale of her merged later with

Keats’ ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci’ to be-

come this deadly enchantress of men? All

these creatures (when in their creature

role) must hide from the sun, which is

fatal to them, like many European deni-

zens. But, in their human guises (the ones

who have them), can mingle anywhere and

at any time. Who knows the story behind

these tales? The creatures of Trinidad

guard their secrets and are not telling.

Unlike many canonized versions of

European tales, these stories do not end

and remain in the book once the story is

over. The dangerous foes are not changed

or vanquished, with everyone ‘safe’ at ‘the

end’. These denizens are still around and

waiting, maybe for you, as the next victim.

Trinidad Mythical Creatures


A Storyteller's Odyssey by Paul Nash

When it was suggested to Carol Farkas

that she explore storytelling as a way to

use her energy in retirement she took to

it with a passion. It became a rich part of

her life over the next eight years.

One of Carol's first steps was 1001

Nights of Storytelling in the Innis College

Cafe where she soon began telling and

then hosting. Admiring the skills of the

experienced storytellers she saw there,

she enrolled in the First Steps into Story-

telling course with Lynda Howes. The

certificate she earned hung proudly on the

wall with her other degrees. She contin-

ued to learn through participating in Sto-

rytellers of Canada - Conteurs du Canada

conferences (Newfoundland, Prince Ed-

ward Island, Ottawa), Toronto Storytelling

Festival’s storytelling camps and three

iterations of Michelle Tocher's Threads

Workshop.

An impulse purchase of a kalimba

(mbira) led her to Ethiopian stories told

to its accompaniment. Ethiopia was one

of many exotic countries she had visited.

The kalimba became her signature instru-

ment both for stories and to call tellers

back from break.

Carol sought out many opportunities

to tell her stories outside 1001 Nights.

She was a feature at Fat Albert's open

stage where she told the Goose Girl and

other stories. She told at poet Linda Stitt's

Words and Music Salon.

She carried 1001 Nights promotional

cards with her everywhere. Some say if

she took a 10 minute bus ride half the

passengers and the bus driver would have

one along with a warm invitation to Innis

College by the time she got off.

She was a Board Member of Storytell-

ing Toronto and sat on the Committee for

The Alice Kane Award and The Anne

Smythe Travel Grant.

As part of the Toronto Storytelling

Festival’s Storyfire she organized Ten Tell-

ers Telling at the Tranzac Club with Molly

Sutkaitis, Maria Ordonez, Natasha Charles,

James Phelan, Paul Nash, Nick Miceli,

Kwanza, Phyllis Walker, Hildy Stollery, and

herself.

Carol loved to combine activities. She

was active in the Academy for Lifelong

Learning, a group of 300 seniors who put

on 12 week workshops for each other.

She put together a workshop called The

Telling of Tales, and gave participants the

opportunity/challenge to tell stories with-

out reading. Guest tellers gave feedback to

the participants and displayed their own


A Lady Who Mattered by Natasha Charles

What is it about Carol Farkas that really

touched me?’ ‘What is it that I want to

share with others about her?’ Over and

over again, I realized it was that things

mattered to Carol. Whatever she was

doing, she gave it her whole heart. I read a

quote a while ago, ‘Things don’t matter

until you say they matter, or until you

decide, rather, that they matter.’ For Car-

ol, things, (various community help pro-

grams, theatre, music, art, and storytelling,

to name a few ‘things’) and sharing those

interests with people was so important.

During her long stay at Princess Margaret

Cancer Centre, she once organized a mu-

sical ensemble in her hospital room, hav-

ing the nurses and a few patients playing

kalimbas and singing rounds. Looking good

and fashion mattered to her. So, even in

the hospital, she was the only patient not

wearing hospital garb (when she could get

away with it) and, as she once jokingly

told me, ‘still trying to look like a grand

lady’. (And I keep her advice in mind, that

wearing short boots makes me look like,

‘Minnie Mouse’. I was wearing short boots

and a skirt at the time she told me that.)

But, even more than things, people

mattered to her. You mattered to her

and you mattered because she cared

about you so, so, so much. She was

always eager to hear about whatever

you were doing. She would have all

these ideas on how to help you realize

your dreams and was always suggest-

ing connections who she thought

could help bring your ideas to life. Up

until a few days before her death, she

was still accepting calls from people

from all the groups with which she

was involved, giving ideas on how they

could accomplish whatever task they

had.

My last memory of her was while

visiting her in Princess Margaret and I was

describing a story that I had adapted from

Barbara Leonie Picard, that I called ‘The

Witch Queen’. She barely had the

strength to whisper, ‘Could you tell me

that story now?’ And, in her hospital

room, I did. And that was the last time I

ever saw her. She died two days later.

I and everyone who knew her will miss

her very fierce (and sometimes, exhaust-

ing!) caring presence. But you knew that

you mattered because she cared. And I

guess she would be asking you and me and

everyone else who she cared about, who

mattered to her, ‘What are you doing to

make things matter to you today?’ And,

even more importantly, ‘What are you

doing, because you matter?’’What are you

doing to make yourself matter today?’

To a lady who mattered, one of my he-

roes (and fashion consultant!), Carol Far-

kas.


(Editor’s note: In June, these words Lorne

wrote for Hildy were shared with me. When I

asked Lorne’s permission to share these

warm and beautifully written

memories in Pippin, he said the

decision to publish his personal

message to Hildy and Peter was

their decision. I asked their

permission, and they graciously

agreed. Hildy died in July

2017.)

by Lorne Brown

By coincidence, about a week

ago I found myself thinking of

Hildy. Possibly because, as an

octogenarian, I find myself

thinking of past events more

often than thinking of future

events.

At any rate, Hildy to

mind. She used to appear in

the office of the Kensington

Community School to check

on some of her students

from the Institute of Child

Studies; we would always

have a chat.

We shared appearances

at out-of-town events such as

the Niagara-on-the-Lake Sto-

rytelling Festival. Christmas

parties at her house, expertly

catered by an older couple

whom we actually contacted

once for a possible catering

event of ours; it never hap-

pened.

Storytelling concerts,

again at her house.

But mostly, I associate

Hildy with Storytelling Toronto, which

used to be called The Storytellers School

of Toronto. I’m proud that I am one of

the seven co-founders – today a dwindling

list, alas – but I think Hildy was one of the

early, and very active, members. Her han-

dling of our so-called archives, and the

history of the organization, was so im-

portant. I’ve lost track of how long she

was a board member.

And, of course, the various Toronto

Festivals she helped organize and/or ap-

peared in. Victoria-Royce Presbyterian

Church was one such festival that I re-

member fondly; Peter Cronin was running

around on one leg, and I do mean running

around; it didn’t seem to slow him down.

I understand the church, which started in

the Junction CPR station, closed its doors

in 2006. It is now Victoria Lofts, a condo. I

know that nothing stays the same forever,

but the rate of change is getting alarming,

for me anyway. Our Lady of Perpetual

Development is what the

church should have been called.

It was in the sanctuary that I

shared a set with Michael

Cooney, the folksinger. He

launched into Tam Lin, a very

long ballad, and the daylight

changed into twilight and into

evening light. The sanctuary

darkened, and I prayed no one

would try to turn on the lights.

It remains one of the most

memorable storytelling experi-

ences in my life, and Hildy was

an unseen part of it.

Jean and Peter and Hildy

shared working in the extraor-

dinarily well-equipped kitchen

of that church.

I hear that Hildy is now into

another phase of her life. I

haven’t seen or spoken to her

lately; it’s more difficult for me

to stay in touch with people

than it used to be, and much

more difficult for Hildy. But as I

know from my own breast can-

cer experience, even when you

think you are alone, you’re not.

Hildy influenced so many peo-

ple, children, students, storytell-

ers, the list goes on. Not all are

able to talk to her now, but

their presence is as real as real

can be.

I think that when I tell a

story, the room contains not

only the listeners, but also the presence of

all sorts of people connected to the story,

people who have influenced me in one

way or another. Their presence is so real

I can almost see them.

I guarantee that Hildy’s room now is

full of an uncountable number of people

who wish her well and thank her for being

her. I am one of them.

Hildy Stollery

skills. These included Molly Sutkaitis, Pat

Bisset, Anna Kertz, Norm Perrin, Aubrey

Davis and Marylyn Peringer.

One of her responses to her diagnosis

of cancer was to conduct a workshop at

Gilda's Club, a cancer support organiza-

tion, on Storytelling and Illness. But her

time ran out before she could continue

with a planned series of workshops.

Our lives were enriched by knowing

Carol the Storyteller. She loved being part

of the community and will live on in its

memory.



(Editor’s Note: When Jan Andrews was awarded

the Order of Canada, I wanted to include this in

Pippin. After discussing this with Celia Lottridge, we

thought to ask Jan herself what it meant to her. In

June Jan sent me this article and photo, and said

“it’s a hard thing to do-to sum up something that

means so much and is tied so closely to so much of

my life.” Jan died in September 2017.)

by Jan Andrews

I believe my appointment to the Order of

Canada comes largely as a result of the

work I have done--both organizationally

and artistically—to support the wondrous

flourishing of storytelling as an art form in

our land. It seems to me, therefore, that I

will go to my investiture knowing that I

will be accepting this honour on behalf of

all of us who care so deeply about the

stories old and new.

The Order of Canada is a splendidly

egalitarian institution. Each Canadian has

the right to nominate anyone they consid-

er to be worthy. Information about how

to do this can be found at: https://

www.gg.ca/document.aspx?

id=14944&lan=eng. The focus of our cur-

rent Governor General, David Johnston,

is on building a “smarter and more caring

nation” capable of contributing to a fairer

and better world. It is a privilege to be

part of that.

I should perhaps note that I am now

entitled to get myself a coat of arms. I

have pondered this matter in some depth,

considering the possibilities of storytellers

rampant, Ti-Jean en couchant, Snow

White’s pomme poisonée beneath a juni-

per tree florissant and other delightful

fantasies. I suspect, however, that I am

unlikely to follow through on any such

dreams.

My thanks go out to those who

worked for my nomination, principally to

Pearl-Ann Gooding, Gil Winham and Mary

Gavan; also to those who wrote letters of

support. Truly, I know that this honour is

not mine alone. It comes to me through

the commitment of all the storytellers of

Canada, from sea to sea to sea.

The Order of Canada


Wildlife Tales for Telling

This book is a seed packet, full of dynamic

story seeds. When you open the book

and read a story seed, you plant it in

yourself, unleashing courage, creativity

and love of nature. True stories of envi-

ronmental heroines and heroes, botanical

tales of living trees. Stories gleaned from

the treasures of world traditions, but re-

visioned for today’s child and told with

great energy and panache. Adventures

between birds, animals and people. Fair-

ytales from the forest and true tales of

sea, earth and sky. Some so good readers

will retell them at once. Shared at bed-

time or around the campfire under the

stars, these stories inspire wonder and

service for Mother Earth.

A handbook for the natural storyteller,

with story maps, brain-teasing riddles,

story skeletons and adventures to make a

tale your own.

Author: Georgiana Keable is a storytell-

ing pioneer. She launched the Norwegian

Storytelling Festival and taught storytelling

at Oslo University since 1997. In 2002 she

started The Storytelling House

(Fortellerhuset) with storytellers from

three continents. Georgiana loves stories

reflecting our relationship with nature.

Often outside, walking and telling with

teenagers, sensing the forest, the weather

and the sea. She also travels, sleeping in a

hammock and collecting stories from

strangers. In 2015 she received the Oslo

Prize for Outstanding Contribution to Art

in Oslo.

Contents

48 stories from across the world, in

themes: Story Heart; Story Mind; Story

Tree; Story Animal; Story Bird; Story

Earth; Story Water; Story Weather; The

First Party.

Extras: Myths from the Land of You –

creating a new story from your own life.

Riddles, story maps, story skeletons, song-

lines, quizzes, planting a tree, wildlife

tracking, making a story party.

For teachers and parents: Story Sources –

the background and origin of the stories;

Using the Story – how each story can

work in your local area and with your

children.

Endorsements

‘The Natural Storytell-

er is testament to

the grace, mystery and

joy that have always

animated our human

relationships with the

earth and its abundant

expressions of life.

This is after all the

most natural way for

people to be, and be

well. The stories in

Georgiana Keable’s

brilliantly chosen col-

lection welcome us

back into that special

space and place, in

which hearts, minds

and spirits know we

truly belong.’ Dr

Donald Smith, Di-

rector, Scottish

Storytelling Centre

‘A life of dedication to

nature, storytelling and young people

courses through the pages of The Natural

Storyteller. It is written with intimacy,

information and chock full of good stories

and creative reflective activities. It is a

wonderful and needed resource for chil-

dren in today's world.’ Laura Simms,

storyteller and author.

‘To protect our planet, in this hour of

chronic need, we have to completely

reimagine our relationship with the natu-

ral world and all its wondrous diversity.

Storytelling plays a crucial part in that

healing process, especially (but not only!)

for young people, as Georgiana Keable so

beautifully and powerfully reveals in The

Natural Storyteller.’ Jonathon Porritt

CBE, Forum for the Future

‘The book is life affirming. All of its stories

are about taking delight in creation. It is a

journey into storytelling as well as story.’

Hugh Lupton, award-winning Story-

teller

‘On a cold winter’s night I found myself

running out into the world through Geor-

giana’s storytelling. My companions, world

-leading climate scientists, swiftly followed.

A glorious anthology that both grounds us

on the earth and opens our hearts to each

other.’ Professor Rosalind Cornforth,

Director, the Walker Institute for

Climate System Research

The book is available directly from

‘Hawthorn Press’ or on Amazon

The Natural Storyteller


deeply, drinking in the clean clear smell of

earth and water.

“Look at the hills,” Jess says. Her voice

sounds like a song. “They look like a

plaid.”

The colours of nature are woven into

the fabric of her life; the songs, the stories

and the memories. As we walk “amidst

the green folds of times gone by,” water-

falls gush past us and sunshine bursts

through the dark clouds as we climb high-

er. The hills are illuminated. Jess stops and

looks at me. Her eyes sparkle.

“Do you hear that?” she asks.

I listen, holding my breath. After a mo-

ment I hear a distant roar. Another bellow

answers it.

“The monarch of the glen,” she says.

“The stag.”

The stags are bellowing

their challenges to each

other. They will crash their

great antlers in battle to win

the females in the herd to

mate. It’s a sound I won’t

forget.

Jess’ hair is blowing in

the wind. Her cheeks are

aglow, and her feet are firm-

ly on the earth. Her heart is

passionate and generous.

She knows who she is; a

Scottish Traveller.

What is a Traveller, you

ask?

“We are the storytellers.

Wandering minstrels, re-

specters of the soil, lovers

of family and friends. Once

we were your heritage, now

we blot your landscape.

Soon we will be gone and

you will have no cul-

ture...Although regarded by

many as Scotland’s outcasts,

travelling people are as true

to her soil as the roots of

the heather.” (from the pro-

logue in “Jessie’s Journey,”

Jess Smith).

Travellers, tinkers, gyp-

sies. Living on the land. Out-



Jane Flynn, Jess Smith, Dawne McFarlane at The Tinker's Heart, Argyll


side. Outsiders. Jess says the Travelling

culture is Scotland’s oldest.

Jess’ passionate heart is proudly devot-

ed to preserving her culture and tradi-

tions, and generously sharing them. She is

an author, researcher, ballad singer, inter-

nationally renown and beloved storyteller.

Three of her books are autobiographical,

one is historical fiction, and one for the

younger reader. Jess is in constant de-

mand as one of Scotland’s most treasured

voices of Traveller stories. She was nomi-

nated for a “Scottish Heritage Angel

Award” for her work with The Tinker’s

Heart.

The Tinker’s Heart is a place of sto-

ries. It is a heart shaped ring of white

quartz stones. It lies in a “small quiet spot

in Argyll, at a place where three roads

meet...a space sacred to Scotland’s Travel-

ling people. It is a place of love, of loss,

and of memory. It is a place where mar-

riages were made, where children were

named, and where those Travelling men

who lost their lives in wars were remem-

bered. It is a place of both ancestors and

descendants; where the past, the present

and the future merge on the three

roads.” (from Heart of the Travellers

www.heartofthetravellers.scot)

Jess and Dave, her husband of 50

years, took me and my sister Jane to The

Tinker’s Heart near Loch Fyne. We want-

ed to do this to honour the memory of

our dad, Allan Hugh McFarlane, and his

dad Donald McFarlane. Our Scottish

grandfather was a storyteller. We learned

from Jess that our family history very like-

ly includes Travellers. When my sister and

I stood by the ancient Moses Well in

Hell’s Glen near The Tinker’s Heart, we

felt a strong connection to the area. It was

a profound experience for us.

“Argyllshire saw many of her people

go to far away places,” Jess told us, “it is a

pleasure to see how some of their de-

scendants, when they come back, connect

with their ancestral lands. It gives them a

strong sense of belonging.”

When an old road was realigned and

the site fell into the hands of a local land-

owner, The Tinker’s Heart became dread-

fully neglected and inaccessible to Travel-

lers. The story of traditional people dis-

placed from places sacred to them is a

story we know in Canada. Jess and a

deeply committed group of people have

been working to clean up and protect the

site, as it was literally covered in cow

dung. Their seven year campaign to have it

lawfully protected by Historic Environ-

ment Scotland (the guardians of ancient

sites, monuments and castles in Scotland)

finally achieved success in 2015. However,

the site has not received the respect that

they hoped for with this success. Jess is

outraged that “every time we visit, we are

pained by the lack of attention to this na-

tional monument.” Historic Environment

Scotland and the local Council are ignor-

ing their ongoing requests for signs and

accessibility. “The land belongs to the

people,” says Jess. “Small though it is, the

area travels on wings on the wind and into

our hearts, through us, and onwards.”

The work does not stop there. The

charity formed to achieve national monu-

ment status continues to highlight the

place of Travelling people in Scotland, past

and present. Jess and Dave made the film

“A Sense Of Identity,” which recently be-

gan touring Scotland. It is a film of person-

al stories. It features intimate interviews

with generations of Travellers and is

heartbreakingly poignant. In the generous

warmth of their home, I learned from Jess

and Dave that from the late 1800’s right

up to the 1960’s it was “normal” for state

authorities to go into the Traveller camps

and into the woods to round up Traveller

children. The children were taken from

their parents and put into christian charity

homes, where they suffered terribly.

These stories are also sadly familiar to us

in Canada. In the 1940’s, the church and

state send a group of officials from Scot-

land to Canada and the United States to

see reservations and reserves. They were

planning to put Travellers onto reserva-

tions in Scotland.

“The reason we’re doing this (making

and touring the film),” says Jess, “is to stop

it happening again. The racism against

Travellers needs to stop. We do this for

the Travelling culture. It’s so important

for the culture to be recognized. ”

Jess Smith knows who she is and tells

her stories with courage and heart. “I am

the seed of all who went before me. I am

from the brave ones who hid, not burned

the tartan. I am from those who spoke the

Gaelic in secret places. I am part of the

True Earth, the sea, the sky, I am the Sco-

tia Bairn .” (excerpt from the poem “The

Scotia Bairn” by Jess Smith)

For more information about The Tink-

er’s Heart and the film A Sense Of Identi-

ty, see www.heartofthetravellers.scot



Mulla Nasrudin was walking

along the village street with a

friend when some rambunc-

tious children surrounded him

and teased him for the patch-

es on his clothes and the

worn shoes he sported.

"Stop bothering me,"

Nasrudin said, "and I will tell

you something very

interesting."

"Okay," said one of

the boys. "but no phi-

losophy!"

"Of course," said

Nasrudin. "I can see

that you are already

skilled at discerning

Truth. Well, it seems

that the Emir is giving

a banquet that is free

to all who come."

The children yipped

with joy and anticipa-

tion and ran off in the

direction of the Emir's

palace. Nasrudin and his

friend laughed as the children

disappeared in the distance.

"Very clever," said Nasrudin's

friend. "I almost believed you

myself."

Nasrudin imagined what such

a banquet would look like if it

were truly happening: sumptu-

ous fruit, refreshing drink,

seasoned dishes of all kinds.

He licked his lips. Somebody

bumped into Nasrudin and he

saw several children running

along the street. "Where are

you running to, so quickly?"

asked Nasrudin.

"Haven't you heard? Someone

said the Emir is giving a

free banquet!"

"Really," said Nasrudin.

He gathered up his

robes and began to

run after the children.

"But Nasrudin," said

the friend, "you're the

one who made that

up."

"I know," said

Nasrudin as he ran

quicker still. "But may-

be it's true after all!"

- retold by

chris cavanagh

A Story

Beautiful Illusion

Kulliyat / Sa'di, 1556: http://www.europeana.eu/portal/en/record/9200264/BibliographicResource_3000058485063.html?q=banquet


Fresh Stories hosts Story Night at Monigram Coffee Roasters, 16 Ainslie St. South, Cam-bridge, each 3rd Friday, 6:30 - 8:30 pm. Info:

[email protected]

Belleville Storytellers meet on the 1st Thurs-day of each month at the Belleville Public Li-brary, 254 Pinnacle St., at 6:30 pm. Info: Micki

Beck, [email protected]

Due to long-term renovations in their usual venue, The Peterborough Storytellers are presently an itinerant band who still gather to share stories in meetings, workshops and house concerts.www.facebook.com/

peterboroughstorytellers

The Guelph Guild of Storytellers meets at 7pm for Tales From the Hill on the first Wednesday of each month at the Guelph Civic Museum, 52 Norfolk St. Open mic for 5 -10 minute stories. Experienced tellers with longer stories are encouraged to contact us in ad-vance for a spot on the program. Info: Brian Holstein, [email protected], [email protected], www.guelpharts.ca/

storytellers

A roster of Toronto storytellers host Bread and Stories alternate Saturday mornings 11am - 1pm at the Artscape Wychwood Barns, 601 Christie St. In winter we’re indoors at the Story-telling Toronto office, Suite 173. Open to story-tellers, listeners and those who like to “talk” story. Come and be mentored as you try out new or familiar stories. Info: Donna Dudinsky,

[email protected]

1,001 Friday Nights of Storytelling continues every Friday evening at 8pm at the Innis Col-lege Café, Sussex Ave. and St. George St., Toronto. Cost $5. Open to all who wish to listen

or tell. (416) 656-2445, www.1001fridays.org

Stories Aloud meets on the 2nd Friday of the month at the Button Factory, 25 Regina St. S. Waterloo. 8pm. Open mic storytelling. Come to listen or share a tale. If your story is over 10 minutes, see the host beforehand. Bring $5 and a mug for hot apple cider. Info: badenstorytell-

[email protected],

The Baden Storytellers Guild meets on the 4th Friday of the month, at the Button Factory, 25 Regina St. S., Waterloo. Info: badenstory-

[email protected]

The Ottawa Storytellers meet for their Story Swap on the first Thursday of the month, 7 - 8:30 pm at the PSAC Building, 233 Gilmour St.

Info: [email protected]

The Ottawa Storytellers (un)told group in-vites stories around the topic You can't choose your family. (Or can you?) Sunday, November 26, 7:30 - 9 pm at the Heart and Crown, Black Rose Pub, 67 Clarence St. in the Byward mar-ket. Come to tell and/or listen. Free admis-sion. To sign up to tell about your assigned or chosen family, send your pitch to un-

[email protected]

The Dufferin Circle of Storytellers meets the 1st Thursday of the month, 7:30pm. Info: Nan-

cy Woods, (519)925-0966

The Durham Folklore Storytellers meets every 3rd Thursday, 7:30-9:30pm in the Sen-iors Day Activity Room, Northview Community Centre, 150 Beatrice St. E., Oshawa. Info: Kathleen Smyth, [email protected]

or www.durhamfolklorestorytellers.ca

Cercle de conteurs et conteuses de l’Est de l’Ontario se réunit pour une soirée de contes décontractée style “Café” au Salon Richelieu du MIFO, 6600, rue Carrière, Orléans. Venez faire plaisir à vos oreilles en partageant et en écoutant contes, legendes et bonnes histoires. Entrée libre. Contribution volontaire suggérée. Informations: Laurent Glaude, (613) 859-1978,

[email protected]

The Hamilton Storytelling Circle meets at Temple Anshe Sholom, 221 Cline Ave N., Hamilton. Info: BarryRosen, barrythestorytell-

[email protected]

The Montreal Storytellers Guild meets the 4th Tuesday. of the month at the Westmount

Library. Info: Christine Mayr, christine-

[email protected]

The Ottawa Storytellers offer Stories and Tea on alternate Tuesdays, 7 - 8:45 pm at the Tea Party Café, 119 York St. Suggested donation: $5. Dec. 12: Claude Garneau and Murray McGregor, Highland Stories and Philosophical

Tales. [email protected]

The Ottawa Storytellers present the Speaking Out series at the National Arts Centre 119 York St. on Thursdays, 7:30 - 9:30 pm. December 14: Capitaine Bonnefemme (aka Nicole Four-nier) and Janet LeRoy, The Adventurous: Sto-ries of French Canada; January 18, Marta Singh, Landscapes of Silence: February 22: Kahmaria Pingue and Hamid Ayoub, Under the Palm Tree: Sankofa Stories. $22, $18 seniors.

Tickets: www.nac-cna.ca/en/tickets or

1-888-991-2787 or at the door. in-

[email protected]

The 2018 Toronto Storytelling Festival comes in two sections: March 2 -4 features tellers from the Toronto-area community; March 19 - 25 presents a roster of Canadian and inter-national tellers including Gcina Mlophe (South Africa), Sahand Sahebdivani (Holland/Iran), Eric Borrkas(Holland), Laura Simms (New York), Judith Liberman (Turkey), Sharon Shorty and Duane Gaskent'Aucoin (Yukon), Jamie Oliviero (Winnipeg) and perennial Festival "elder" Ron Evans. Storytellers Camp is back, with workshops and story talks by our national and international guests. For children, family storytelling on Sunday March 25 at the Toronto Reference Library. Info and early bird registra-

tion: www.torontostorytellingfestival.ca

EVENTS — Winter 2018

Every effort has been made to present current information. Sometimes the completion and delivery of Pippin is subject to the volunteer hours available to produce it.

GATHERINGS

PERFORMANCES

FESTIVALS


This newsletter is made possible in part by a grant from the Ontario Arts Council’s Literary Festivals and Organizations

Operating Funding.

The Storytellers School of Toronto gratefully acknowledges the support of the following government agencies:

vol.21, no.1 heart of a traveller - storytelling toronto · 2019. 2. 11. · 2 pippin - winter 2018...

Documents