| Storytelling Workshop
Bellarmine University
October 18, 2008
9:10- 9:30 Songs and Verse
“Little Beech, a Boy Who Dared”
Small groups - Tell a Story
Interactive Discussion
10:15- 10:30 Break
10:30 “Daniel Boone, the Man Who Loved to Walk”
Small groups - Recall
Brain research
Selection of material and use of archetypes
Questions and Answers
“George Rogers Clark, A Man With a Secret Plan” a modern history of KY
11:50 Songs
Book that inspired this story:
Kentuckians Before Boone
By A. Gwynn Henderson
Published by University Press of Kentucky, 1992
ISBN 0813109086, 9780813109084
64 pages
The Story of Little Beech, of a Fort Ancient Village in the Ohio Valley
( a story to be told aloud)
by Mary Holden
Part 1
The village, the set-up of the houses, the family dynamics, chores of a 10 yr old boy, free time, stream and forest interraction, seasonal changes, adventure and mystery, Little Beech witnesses a plot of a band of renegades and must get back to warn his people.
Part 2
The evening circle, the role of the Wise One, the storytelling, the plan to foil the plot, Little Beech gains status in the village, off to bed in wait.
Part 3
The Raid, the combat, the defeat of the renegades, an enemy killed and posted as a warning to others,a description of the sacred burial mound, a victory feast
Part 4
Years later, Little Beech is Great Beech, family life, newcomers down the stream, a trading post, new illness comes
Part 5
A village dwindles decimated by drought, famine and illness, Great Beech and a session with the Great Spirit, a message
Part 6
Migration across the Ohio River at the Falls, what they took and what they left behind
Part 1 (work in process)
It was a cool autumn morning much like this one. The days were getting shorter and the fog rose from the stream. Little Beech heard the familiar sounds and smells of his mother cooking from his warm nest in his family’s long house. He rolled over pulling the skins tighter. Eventually the smell of fry-cakes pulled him totally out of his cozy dream and caused his eyes to open and blink.
Little Beech heard the trickling of water from the stream in the distance and he knew he wanted to set off on a journey after breakfast and chores. So he wrapped his covers, the soft dear-skins warm from his night’s sleep around his shoulders, opened the door- flap to go outside. When he spotted his Mother, Hooting Owl, squatting down next to the fire cooking their morning food, he rubbed his cheek on her shoulder. She rocked her body a bit and rubbed her cheek on his sleepy head while continuing to watch the batter of ground corn, water and fat sizzle on the flat rock heated in the fire.
Now I must tell you that the people of Little Beech’s village did not chat a lot like we all do. A lot of conversations were held with smiles and dancing eyes and gesturing. Sometimes just ignoring a person meant very much.
Hooting Owl lifted a warm fry cake up for Little Beech to roll up in his hands. He walked around slowly eating and thinking about the day ahead. First he would have to gather the fire kindling as usual and see if he could capture some small meat like the squirrel or possum. He knew where some winter squash was becoming hard on its withering vine. This would be the day to bring some home to Hooting Owl. After these chores were finished, he could go on a canoe adventure. Autumn was the best time to paddle. The water was still warm and yet possessed a stillness.
So after all work was done, he smiled at his mother and pointed at the water and she smiled back but then looked at the sky to see if the good weather would hold out yet another day. Little Beech walked softly in his deerskin moccasins out of their village through the opening in the stockade fence that surrounded the village. Down, down the slope of the hillside he skittered quiet as a field mouse until he reached the side of the stream. In the brush, he had hidden his canoe. It was a small one that he had built himself with the help of the older boys. It was made of bent green limbs and oiled deerskin and was light as a feather.
Little Beech angled the canoe so it was perpendicular to the shore and using both hands to steady himself and taking great care to step only on the ribs on the canoe, he pushed off and settled himself into a kneel with his paddle in hand. He began to hum to himself ever so quietly a song that blended with the autumn breeze.
My paddle’s keen and bright,
Flashing with silver,
Follow the wild goose flight,
Dip, dip and swing.
The dazzle of the late morning sunlight sifted through the slowly falling leaves that painted the surface of the stream with yellows and reds. The leaves seemed to be little boats themselves atop the water that had turned the color of strong tea and clarified in the habit of the fall. The fish below were still lively and when he rounded a bend, the plop, plop, plop of sunning soft-shelled turtles re-entering the water made Little Beech wonder how the turtle could swim so far on just one breath. The kingfisher made his rattling sound high in the trees and occasionally swooped down to inspect him.
Well, this could have used up the rest of Little Beech’s day, but today it was not to be. You see, children of these times could hear sounds in an extraordinary way... a way that you or I might just dismiss a sound as a chipmunk or a robin in a dry leaves, they could hear as friendly or menacing.... something out of the ordinary. Such a sound did LIttle Beech hear that very day.
It sounded to him like adults, perhaps, men creeping and then a settling and then some talking. Because he was a curious boy and a bit of a dare-devil, Little Beech decided to draw his canoe silently up to shore, cover it with some branches and search out the source of this mysterious noise.
He crept up the bank and moving on the sides of his feet, soundlessly, hardly breathing and listening with his eyes closed at times found his way to a wide oak tree near the band of men. Although their language was a bit different than his own it was clear to Little Beech that they were planning to raid his village that night and steal some of their young maidens to take home as their wives. Little Beech panicked for a minute and then knew that he must get back and let the Wise One know so their village could be prepared.
Just then a small branch loaded with acorns fell noisily to the ground just inches from Little Beech’s hiding place behind the oak. The men looked his way with concern but then laughed when they saw the squirrels in merry chase. Meanwhile, Little Beech’s heart almost pounded right out of his chest in fear of getting caught. He MUST get away.
Book that inspired the next story:
My Father, Daniel Boone: The Draper Interviews with Nathan Boone
By Nathan Boone, Olive Van Bibber Boone, Lyman Copeland Draper, Neal O. Hammon
Contributor Nelson L. Dawson, Neal O. Hammon
Published by University Press of Kentucky, 1999
ISBN 0813121035, 9780813121031
Daniel Boone, the Man Who Loved to Walk
(a story to be told aloud)
by Mary Holden
Part 1 Home-life of the Boones, a Quaker family in Pennsylvania
Part 2 The migration to Yadkin River Valley, North Carolina, meets Rebecca, meets John Findley during Lord Dunsmore's War and hears the first tales of Kentuck
Part 3 A wedding, family life in N Carolina, walking to Kentucky with brother Squire, travel-fever
Part 4 The Transylvania Company and the Boones migration to Kentuck, death of a son
Part 5 Life in Boonesboro on the Kentucky River
Part 6 Leaving Kentucky for Missouri, walking to Yellowstone,
Part One (work in progress)
Birthdays! They’re the best, aren’t they? Especially when you are one of eleven children in a family and right smack in the middle. Well, this story is about the 12th birthday of Daniel Boone and the best present ever for a boy who lived at the edge of the woods in Pennsylvania.
But before you hear about this birthday, you must know a bit about the life of the Boone family. And before that you must know a bit about the Quakers. They are a peaceable people who believe in solving problems of life through discussion and not through fighting. In nature lives the presence of God so being in the outdoors is a glorious thing. Quakers came to Pennsylvania many years ago to find a place to live the simple life in peace.
Two of these Quakers were Squire and Sarah Boone who built a cabin near Reading, Pennsylvania, set up weaving looms, acquired some cattle and with lots of work went on to run a weaving business and a milk business. Oh, and along with this work, they had eleven children who all pitched in to help.
Now their house might have been set up like this. Downstairs was a large open room with 5 or 6 big looms all holding a project. Squire was a skilled weaver and taught his trade to the firstborn of the children. You probably know how to weave a bit and when we go to Shakertown, you will see what a loomhouse looks like. They made cloth to trade with others in their community and cloth for their own clothes. On one wall was a big fireplace with a stack of wood and a large hearth to sit on to get warm. A set up for a large pot bubbling with stew made of potatoes, meat and vegetables would fill the home with smells of a good dinner.
They also had a cookstove where Sarah could bake bread and cakes. Feeding a family of thirteen hard workers was no small task. Over in the corner was the only bed in the house made with rope and a feather bed and topped with a heavy quilt. On the floor was a cradle for baby, Hannah.
You are probably wondering where do the kids sleep? Why they sleep upstairs in the loft. You have to climb a ladder to get up there but it was filled with straw and each child could get cozy with a quilt up there. Now we all look forward to a sleepover but Daniel Boone had a sleepover every night of the week!
Outside of their cabin was a milkshed and that is where Sarah stored milk, made cheese and butter some of which they sold and some of which they kept.
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