Last week I mentioned the late and truly great storyteller, Chuck Larkin.  Chuck died April 18, 2003 and if there's any way he can tell stories in "the Great Beyond", I'm sure he's doing it.  Fortunately his family has decided to pay and keep his website online at http://chucklarkin.com/index.html.  

 

Rather than hunt up the page on the Wayback Machine filled with his traditional stories, the site lets you download Christmas Traditional Stories from the Southeast (Chuck was deeply rooted in Georgia); Fish Tales, tall tales about fish and the people who chase them; Halloween Stories, scary stories about haints, ghosts and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night (including my absolute favorite, "Mary Culhaine"); Hunting for Tall Tales, a collection of tall tales about hunters, dogs and critters who outwit them; a short play for storytellers titled "I Don't Tell Lies"; Short and Tall Tales, he says they are very, very short tall tales; and then Tall Tall Tales, traditional tall tales and stories; The Marriage of Sir Gawain and Lady Ragnell, a pre-Christian saga adapted from a mid-15th century poem fragment and from listening to other variants of this legend from a number of storyteller; and The Hunt,  An Irish Celtic tale about Fianna Warriors.

Since Tall Tales were Chuck's specialty I decided to post two of his "very, very short tales" that seem appropriate at this time when farmers have been planting and harvesting, the weather is extra hot, and roads everywhere seem under construction.  

Short and Tall Tales

Traditional Stories from the Website of Bluegrass Storyteller, Chuck Larkin

My Father’s Brother’s Family and Ridge Farming

The first time I ever visited Georgia was in Habersham County. Uncle John and Aunt Irene had a ridge farm in the Georgia mountains. You may never have seen a ridge farm or if you did you may not have realized how they farm the ridges. You can’t use a tractor. It would roll over on you the first time you tried to turn a row. Folks use mules for the ploughing, planting, weeding and harvesting. Not my Uncle John, he was a gentleman farmer. He raised razorback hogs, a mountain species of the wild piney wood rooters. The mountain variety have long back legs and long ear lobes with holes in the bottom of the ear lobes. The first time I saw one I thought they wore ear bobs in their ear holes. They are ugly. Their heads look like their necks had barfed. One fell into the pond up in front of the farm house. They had that 550-pound hog out of the water in about five minutes. Aunt Irene told me they had to scum ugly off that pond for a year.

My Uncle John raised that species of mountain, razorback hogs, because of the long back legs. The hogs could root right up the side of a ridge turn around, tuck them long back legs into their ear holes and slide right back down the root path. Then they would turn right around and root their way back up the ridge. When it was time to plant, Uncle John tied little disks on the hogs’ tails. Disks look like Frisbees and they break up clods of fresh turned dirt. Uncle John would throw table scraps out over the ridge and at dusk turns the hogs loose. By morning the hogs would have rooted and disked the whole side of the ridge. Uncle John would sit on his rocking chair on his back porch with a bag of seed grain and his sling shot and plant the side of the ridge.

When the harvest was ready all he had to do was hit the side of the ridge with a two-by-four piece of wood, wham bam! All the vegetables would roll down off the ridge to the catch fence. I mean that does make farming a whole lot easier.

Uncle John never had to worry about drought and lack of rain like other farmers did. Across the top of the ridge he would always plant three rows of onions and potatoes mixed together. He surely was a smart farmer to have worked this out. You see if you mix the onions and potatoes together at the top of the ridge the onions would make the tater eyes weep and keep the whole side of the ridge irrigated.

The only mistake Uncle John ever made was the summer he planted some of those hot, hot, hot Mexican jalapeno peppers along the catch fence. When those fiery, hot peppers got ripe, they put off an incredible amount of seething heat that just rolled up the side of the ridge. Well that summer, so happened to be a summer so hot that I’ve watched stumps in the pasture tear themselves out of the ground and on their roots crawl underneath the trees to cool off. I have even seen the shade in the middle of the day creep under the trees to cool off. Hot and Dry! We had the Health Department out to spray the fish in the cat fish pond for ticks. The fish would come out of the pond around noon each day and swim around in the dust to keep away from the boiling water. Well to make a long story short let me tell you what happened. I know you may not believe this but I do not have any reason to lie to you. Oh I might tell you something seven or eight different ways but I wouldn’t lie. On the hottest day you could imagine coupled with the scorching heat waves coming off those Jalapeno peppers and rolling up the ridge a 465 pound hog got into the middle of the ridge field and flat out melted! That’s a fact. Though I admit some might tend to argue but I was there and I seen it for myself. The only thing Uncle John harvested from that ridge field was french fried potatoes, onion rings and the first sweet fried corn ever to be sent to market.

Well they’re all retired now. Besides farming Uncle John took up road building part time. Lots of folks from Florida came up into the mountains to build retirement homes at the top of the ridges. There was a need for road building and Uncle John figured out how he could under bid his competition. He made a ton of money. It was the experience of his cousin Rutledge that gave him the idea.

AND THAT’S A TRUE STORY

Hot Pepper Postcard on Zazzle.com

 

 Road Building

It was this experience that Rutledge had from earning money using the unusual ability of his farm stock that got my uncle John to thinking. He was able to underbid all the other road builders in the mountains by using the unusual ability of his mountain species of razor back hogs.

After Uncle John got a road building contract for one of the ridges he would take a four foot long pointed stick and a small, hard rubber headed mallet. Then he drove a series of holes about a foot or so deep sygoglin up the side of the ridge where the road was going to go. Each hole he filled with shucked corn, about one inch deep. Last, he would haul his hogs to the beginning of the trail and turn them loose without any supper. The hungry hogs would smell the corn and root down and then sideways to the next hole filled with some corn until they had rooted a road right up the ridge, switchbacks and all. All Uncle John had to do was grade the road and throw down some gravel. He got so rich he was able to park a Leer Jet on cement blocks in his front yard.

AND THAT’S A TRUE STORY

https://www.trafficsafetystore.com

 

All of Chuck's stories end with this permission:

These are very short traditional stories collected and adapted for telling by Bluegrass Storyteller, Chuck Larkin. 

Permission to use, revise and tell the stories from this manuscript is granted to the storytelling public. 

 

 

As I mentioned last week, Tall Tales use what you know as fact and then S-T-R-E-T-C-H it!  Chuck was well aware of the traditions and had a lot of fun with it.  His website is a gold mine worth digging up this type of story.  Feel free to try your hand at it. 

Creating "True" Stories with Mary Garrett

There's always been storytelling within families and now with contests like "The Moth" there are many stories told supposedly based in truth.  It's not uncommon for a storyteller to be asked "Is that true?"  Truth and "what really happened" can be two very separate things.  Last week I posted a skunk story which drew a similar story from fellow storyteller, Mary Garrett.  Of course almost any story about a skunk is going to include their special "gift" of their sprayed scent.  Mary's does, too, but look at how she shapes it as a family story.  Afterwards I plan to look at a whole different technique she uses with a traditional story.

Under the Chicken House

23 Apr 2014

by storytellermary in A to Z Blogging, Daddy John Stories Tags: chickens, daddy, dog, nature, stories

Sam Meets the Striped Kitty Cat     by “Daddy John” Fussner

Mary (at the time of this story) in the dog house

 

One day in late February the sun was shining bright, and the wind was blowing from the south.  There was a promise of spring in the air.  It was warm for late February.  Several red birds could be seen around Dough Doughy’s house, along with a dozen or so robins.  The sparrows were already thinking of building nests, though it was much too early to start.  About a hundred pigeons were sunning themselves on the south side of the barn roof.  There were dark pigeons, white pigeons, old, young, all colors and ages.

Way down in the pasture near the woods, a few deer were grazing on the green grass between the patches of snow.  Near the brier patch, old and young male and female rabbits were busy stuffing themselves with tender green grass and the young shoots of plants making an early growth.  Many little field mice were out looking for food, for they were very hungry after the last cold spell.

Chatty the squirrel lay sunning himself on the big limb of the old oak tree near the creek.  In the creek could be seen little fish looking for food, bigger fish looking for little fish, and the biggest fish looking for all of them.  Tommy Turtle was slowly swimming around, looking for just anything at all to eat.

Out in the barn, the mice that can always be found in barns were very busy scampering around, looking for stray bits of grain that many have been dropped and keeping an eye open for bits of paper, string, or anything else that would make a warm nest warmer.  Dough Doughy had left the door open so that the warm, fresh air could dry out the barn.

Under the chicken house lived a cute little animal.  She wasn’t very big, and her coat was black except for the white stripes down her back.  She had lived under the chicken house all her life, and she wasn’t afraid of anything in the barnyard.  She would walk under the six big horses much as if their legs were tree trunks.  Dogs worried her not.  They would only try to catch her once.  After that they stayed well away, leaving when she walked near.

She didn’t bother the chickens, except to take an egg once in a while to make her coat shine.  Dough Doughy didn’t mind, for he often fed eggs to his six big horses to make their coats shine.  The only things that tried to get away when she arrived, but didn’t often succeed, were the mice and the very few rats that lived in the barn.  Some of the wiser mice lived in the barn to a ripe old age.  The rats, however, never lasted over a week.   Rats and mice were Petunia’s main food, and with her around, Dough Doughy had few problems.

The warm weather brought Petunia out from her nice dry nest.  She was as hungry as all the other wild citizens of the farm.  She had already eaten everything around the chicken house.  The food Dough Doughy set out for her was filling, but she was a little tired of it; so she was off to the barn.

Petunia hadn’t been to the barn in three weeks; so the mice were playing all over the place.  Petunia entered the open door, stopped, and looked around.  Boy, oh boy!  What a sight for a hungry skunk!  Way, way over near the far end, fully forty feet away, was a big rat, chewing on a bag of feed.  In between Petunia and the rat were about a half dozen mice.

What should she do?  Should she catch a small mouse that she was sure of, or try for the rat, which was forty feet away, but only six feet from his hole in the wall and safety?  What do you think?  Well, sir, almost faster than the eye could follow, Petunia streaked across the forty feet.  Before the rat knew she was coming, it was too late.  Mr. Rat made a fine meal for Petunia.

After a big meal, most animals like to sleep, and Petunia was no different.  She slowly walked out to the chicken house and was soon fast asleep in the sun.  She had been napping for about an hour when she was awakened by a dog barking.  Opening her eyes and springing to her feet, she saw Sam.  He would lunge forward barking loudly and then back off.  He repeated this over and over.  Petunia couldn’t retreat to her den under the chicken house, because Sam was between her and the entrance.

Petunia didn’t want any trouble; so she backed off toward the barn.  Sam kept coming after her, barking every step of the way.  He didn’t know anything about skunks, but he was about to find out.  Petunia reached the barn, still slowly backing away from Sam, when she realized that Sam wasn’t going to stop making a pest of himself.  She turned and ran as fast as she could.  Sam was doing a good job of keeping up with her as they raced across the pasture.

Dough Doughy was out in the pasture rounding up the horses, and he saw Sam chasing Petunia.  “Well, well,” he thought, “Sam is about to learn another lesson the hard way.  He will be a mighty lonely dog before this is over.”

Petunia reached the fence and raced under it and on into the woods, where she holed up in a hollow tree.  The hole was near the ground, but too small for Sam.  Petunia knew she would be safe from harm.  Poor Sam reached the fence and rolled head over tail, unable to stop.  He then had to hunt for a hole under the fence large enough for him to go through.  He soon found the hollow tree where Petunia was holed up.  He barked, he scratched at the hole, and he stuck his head in; he did everything he could to get Petunia.

Soon, enough was enough, and any more was too much.  Petunia turned her tail toward Sam, up went the flag, and out shot the gas, hitting Sam in the face and front.  Sam let out a howl you could hear for a mile or more.  He rolled in the dirt and rubbed his head on the ground, trying to clear his eyes.  After a while, he could see well enough to go home.  Yelping every step of the way, he reached home in record time.

Dough Doughy had waited out by the barn after he drove the horses in.  He listened to Sam as he made his way to the hollow tree.  Dough Doughy knew just what was going on every minute of the time.  When Petunia threw the charge of gas from the glands under her tail,  Dough Doughy heard Sam yelp, and he knew what to do.  Going into the barn, he opened the door in a little cabinet and took out a bottle of medicine for Sam’s eyes.  He then went to the brooder house, where the baby chicks are kept, and filled a big tub with warm water.

Soon Sam was home, his eyes were taken care of, and he had been given a hot bath, a good drying off, a warm bed in the brooder house, a hot meal, and plenty of time to think about chasing striped kitty cats.  For about a month, no one came near Sam except to bring him his food.

More of Dad’s stories at https://storytellermary.wordpress.com/category/stories/daddy-john-stories/

***

You may have noticed I left Mary's name on this.  She has crafted quite a few of her father's stories, or "Daddy John" stories.  Her homepage, https://storytellermary.wordpress.com/, mentions yet another page with her CDs and down at the bottom of that page are books of both "Daddy John" and old time tall tales of "Uncle John."  Along the way in some of her blog articles and stories she credits being mentored by a storyteller I correctly called "a National Treasure", Chuck Larkin.  I'm grateful his website, http://chucklarkin.com/, is still up as it includes a page overflowing with traditional stories and his specialty, tall tales.  In preparing today's article I learned that Chuck's family pays the cost of maintaining it.  I thank them.  Mary thanked Chuck for helping her gather (I'd say begin to gather) her father's bedtime stories into book format.  The "Uncle John" stories are also her father's stories, but Chuck further helped her clarify the tall tales, told with dialect, were a whole 'nother thing and deserve pointing to their tall tale origin.

I found some of those tall tales when I asked "Why was your father called 'Dough Doughy'?" 

This was her answer:

Dough Doughy by “Daddy John” Fussner

Long, long ago, there lived at the edge of the Land of Make Believe an old woman and her husband, an old man.  Living there at the edge of the Land of Make Believe was very lonely.

One day the old lady, Ma as she was called, was making doughnuts, and as she rolled out the dough, she thought of how nice it would be if she had some little children running around the house.  All of her children had long ago grown up and moved away, and her grandchildren lived so far away that she never saw them.  Just for fun, she cut a little boy out of the dough and fried him with the doughnuts.  Oh, he turned out so fine, fat and golden brown.  He looked so nice that Ma and Pa, her husband, decided not to eat him.

That night, the good old witch that lived on the big hill between the Land of Make Believe and Holiday Valley came sailing by on her broom.  Seeing the little doughboy on the kitchen table, she zoomed in for a closer look.  As she was standing there, she saw the little old woman’s dream.  The little old woman was dreaming that the boy was a real live boy and that she was making him a new suit of clothes.

“Well, well,” said the old witch to Midnight, her cat, “Let’s see what the old man is dreaming about.”  Then she had a look at his dream.

What do you thinking he was dreaming about?  He was dreaming that he was going fishing and that the little dough boy was a real live boy and was going along.  The old Witch stood there awhile, thinking.  Finally, she said, “Why not!”  Waving her magic broom, she said, “Get up, you lazy loafer,” to the little doughboy.

Do you think he did? Yes, he got up fast.

“That’s better,” said the old witch.  “Now, you listen to me and pay attention, because I’m only going to say this once.

“After I leave, you will go back to sleep.  You won’t wake up until the old ones sit down to breakfast.  You will then wake up slowly so as not to startle them, and you will show them that you are alive.  If, after a while, they believe in the Land of Make believe, you can go forth and find some of your friends. If they don’t believe, they are to know nothing of this, and after a while, I will come and take you with me.  If that happens, they will think that it was all a dream and they will never know that you were here.”  With that, she waved her broom, putting the boy to sleep.  Then swiftly, swiftly away she zoomed on her broom.

Everything worked out fine, and the old man and old woman had a little boy to keep them company.  What do I mean by had?  Well, I mean that since that was a long time ago, the little boy has grown up to a man named Dough Doughy, but as we are still back at the time of Dough Doughy’s birth, let’s get back to the story.

After a few weeks, the old man and lady decided to make another little doughboy.  The little old woman rolled out the dough and cut out another little boy, hoping that he, too, would come to life.  However, as the doughboy was lying on the table waiting for his turn to be cooked, Pa got hungry. No, he didn’t eat the doughboy. Instead he made himself a rye bread and Limburger cheese sandwich.  Pa didn’t notice when he dropped some of the cheese on the doughboy and neither did Ma; so she cooked him, cheese and all.

Well, Limburger cheese is the strongest cheese of all; so this brother for Dough Doughy was really strong.  Therefore, he was named Samson.  You will be hearing a lot about them from time to time.  Now, however, it is time for bed; so say your prayers and go to sleep.

***

I bet you recognized that as Mary's family's version of a story that goes by many names, Gingerbread Boy or Man, Hoecake, the Runaway Pancake, and even Frank Baum, when not writing about The Wizard of Oz, wrote about John Dough!  Nothing says a story has to be factual.  Tall tales delight in starting with what seems ordinary and then s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s those facts.  In the bedtime stories  of Daddy John, like the story of Sam meeting a skunk, that doesn't keeping it from being "true."

Mary lives in St. Peters, Missouri and has long been active in my hometown of the St. Louis area.  I asked her what would be her favorite picture of herself.  She chose this from "Our Renaissance Faire is held in Wentzville, in Rotary Park. (Where we once were trapped by sudden flooding and had to be rescued by fire fighters who set up a rope to hold onto as they walked us through rushing waters . . . but that's another story)."

She added, "All those littles are now taller than I am."

Let's here it for audiences that keep on growing and for stories that pop up, grow, travel and change.

Shelter in Place - Week 9 / Fox - Tin Whistle on the Bass - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

This Memorial Day weekend is considered (at least by the Michigan tourism industry and many others) the unofficial start of summer.  We've just been given permission for up to TEN! people to gather, and, after the holiday, letting businesses start to reopen in a limited way.  The Upper Peninsula and the northernmost counties started the reopening of the state in time for the holiday.  The governor said people heading north should take groceries with them and she did not permit campgrounds and rental properties to open yet.  Since people in the southern part of the state were starting to head to adjoining reopened Ohio and Indiana, it's not surprising this finally will happen statewide.  So are we able to quit "Shelter in Place"?  Dunberidiculous!  The Governor said she'd be looking at this and she did...we're supposed to continue until June 12, or at least that's the latest Executive Order for those of us in Michigan.

And so it continues. . .

Whether at your own cottage or throughout the rest of our mitten-shaped state, we have water all around our "pleasant peninsula" and enough inland lakes to challenge Minnesota's "Land of 10,000 Lakes."  Unfortunately for Gladwin and Midland County, recent heavy rains earlier this past week broke two dams with water eleven feet over flood stage.  The dams breaking completely drained lakes and flooded towns in Central Michigan along the Tittabawassee River.  Surely Edenville, Sanford, and Midland will have no holiday as they clean up.  Having gone through that with a house flood several years ago, I know that is an understatement.  For the rest of us, whether in a group of ten or alone, it's time to post new signs, not about the Pandemic, but holiday signs.  Whether you fish or not, everybody can relate to the desire for a bit of time to unwind found in the saying "Gone Fishing."

Decal/sticker from www.stickerfxgraphics.co.uk

Where would the world of storytelling be without tall tales?  My fellow members of Paint Creek Folklore Society have an annual concert called the Tin Whistle, but this bass is not a musical stringed instrument, but a fish in this well-established type of tall tale.

Have a good holiday if you're reading this in the U.S.  Wherever you are stay well and keep on telling those tall tales even if you must "Shelter in Place. "

this photo came from a blog where the author said "Maybe some rest and relaxation will recharge my batteries and get me to writing again."

************************

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Other Public Domain story resources I recommend-

• There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I have long recommended it and continue to do so.  He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

• You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for those of us seeking specific types of stories.  There's another site, FairyTalez claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs", free and presented without ads.
  
  Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials, "Wait, there's more!"

The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:            

         - David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html

         - Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain

         - Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html

         - Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales

         - Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/ is now only accessible through the Wayback Machine, described below, but Jackie Baldwin's wonderful site lives on there, fully searchable manually (the Google search doesn't work), at https://archive.org/ .  It's not easy, but go to Story-lovers.com snapshot for October 22 2016  and you can click on SOS: Searching Out Stories to scroll down through the many story topics and click on the story topic that interests you.

       - Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html

       - World of Tales - http://www.worldoftales.com/ 
           - Zalka Csenge Virag - http://multicoloreddiary.blogspot.com doesn't give the actual stories, but her recommendations, working her way through each country on a continent, give excellent ideas for finding new books and stories to love and tell.

     
You're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine to find some of these old links.  Tim's site, for example, is so huge probably updating it would be a full-time job.  In the case of Story-Lovers, it's great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online as long as it did after she could no longer maintain it.  Possibly searches maintained it.  Unfortunately Storytell list member, Papa Joe is on both Tim Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his Library (something you want to see!) is now only on the Wayback Machine.  It took some patience working back through claims of snapshots but finally in December of 2006 it appears!

Somebody as of this writing whose stories can still be found by his website is the late Chuck Larkin - http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html.  I prefer to list these sites by their complete address so they can be found by the Wayback Machine, a.k.a. Archive.org, when that becomes the only way to find them.

You can see why I recommend these to you. Have fun discovering even more stories!

Riley - The Bear Story - Keeping the Public in Public Domain (AND "translated" from the dialect)

I confess to mixed feelings about today's posting.  It's great for people who can memorize something like The Bear Story as James Whitcomb Riley wrote it, with or without dialect.  I do think the YouTube version I posted with the article about the original poem back on November 17 shows listening to it is probably easier than reading it.  Personally I prefer taking the story, which is an excellent example of a tall tale and re-telling it (as opposed to a memorized version) with a hint of the style of Riley's original.  For example, my translation today omits saying "purt' nigh" and substitutes "pretty near", but I think the listener can follow it.  That phrase also gives a sense of the teller, in this case the Little Boy.  I also find myself feeling sorry for the two bears.  They are a real threat to humans in their territory, but the Little Boy sets out specifically to kill them.

Last week I told so much about the poem and Riley that I only linked to the original.  For your convenience I'm giving it right after my "translation."  I also found so many great bear picture to start the story, but will stop once they have set the stage for the action which clearly keeps the Little Boy thinking his way through his story as he is telling it.

Bear Story (translated from the dialect)                         

Why once there was a Little Boy went out
In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out
Away in the great-big woods – he did. – And he
Was going along – and going along, you know,
And pretty soon he heard something go “Wooh!”

It's that way – “Woo-ooh!” And he was scared,

He was. And so he ran and climbed a tree –

A great-big tree, he did, a sycamore tree.

And then he heard it again: and he looked around,

And it was a Bear! – a great big sure enough Bear!

No: it was two Bears, it was – two great-big Bears –

One of them was – this one's a great-big Bear. –
But they both went “Wooh!” – And here they came

To climb the tree and get the Little Boy

And eat him up!

And then the Little Boy                                                  

He was scared worse than ever! And here came

The great-big Bear climbing the tree to get

The Little Boy and eat him up – Oh, no! –
It wasn't the Big Bear that climbed the tree –
It was the Little Bear. So here he came

Climbing the tree – and climbing the tree! Then when

He got right close to the Little Boy, why then

The Little Boy he just pulled up his gun

And shot the Bear, he did, and killed him dead!

And then the Bear he fell clean on down out of

The tree – way clean to the ground, he did –

Spling-splung! He fell plumb down, and killed him, too!
And lit right beside where the Big Bear's at.

And then the Big Bear was awfully mad, you bet! –

Because – because the Little Boy he shot his gun

And killed the Little Bear. – Because the Big Bear

He – he was the Little Bear's Papa. – And so here

He came to climb the big old tree and get

The Little Boy and eat him up! And when

The Little Boy saw the great-big Bear

Coming, he was worse scared, he was,

Than any time! And so he thought he'd climb
Up higher – way up higher in the tree
Than the old Bear could climb, you know. – But he –
He can't climb higher than old Bears can climb, –

Because Bears can climb up higher in the trees

Than any little Boys in all the Wo-r-r-ld!

And so here came the great-big-Bear, he did, –                    

Climbing up – and up the tree, to get

The Little Boy and eat him up! And so

The Little Boy, he climbed on higher, and higher,

And higher up the tree – and higher – and higher –

And higher than this here house is! And here came

The old Bear – closer to him all the time! –

And then – first thing you know, when the old Big Bear

Was right close to him – then the Little Boy

Just jabbed his gun right in the old Bear's mouth

And shot and killed him dead! – No; I forgot, –

He didn't shoot the great-big Bear at all –

Because there was no load in the gun, you know –
Because when he shot the Little Bear, why, then
No load was anymore in the gun!

But the Little Boy climbed higher up, he did –
He climbed lots higher – and on up higher – and higher
And higher – until he just can't climb any higher,

Because then the limbs were all so little, away

Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of

The tree, they'd break down with him if he didn't

he Be careful! So he stopped and thought: And then

He looked around – And here came the old Bear!

And so the Little Boy made his mind

He's got to just get out of there some way! –

Because here came the old Bear! – so close, his breath's

Pretty near so he could feel how hot it was

Against his bare feet – just like old “Ring's” breath

When he's been out hunting and is all tired.

So when the old Bear's so close – the Little Boy

Just gave a great-big jump for another tree –

No! – no, he didn't do that! – I'll tell you what

The Little Boy did: – Why, then – why, he – Oh, yes--
The Little Boy he found a hole up there
That's in the tree – and climbs in there and hides –
And then the old Bear can't find the Little Boy

At all! – But, pretty soon the old Bear finds

The Little Boy's gun that's up there – because the gun
It's too tall to take with him in the hole.
So, when the old Bear found the gun, he knew
The Little Boy was hidden around somewhere there, –

And the old Bear began to snuff and sniff around,

And sniff and snuff around – so he could find

Out where the Little Boy was hidden. – And then – then –

Oh, yes! – Why, pretty soon the old Bear climbed

Away out on a big limb – a great-long limb, –

And then the Little Boy climbed out of the hole

And took his ax and chopped the limb off! . . . Then

The old Bear fell k-splunge! clean to the ground

And busted and killed himself plumb dead, he did!

And then the Little Boy he got his gun

And commenced climbing down the tree again –

No! – no, he didn't get his gun – because when
The Bear fell, then the gun fell, too – And broke
It all to pieces, too! – And the nicest gun –

His Pa just bought it! – And the Little Boy

Just cried, he did; and went on climbing down

The tree – and climbing down – and climbing down! –

And sir! When he was pretty near down, – why, then
The old Bear he jumped up again – and he
Wasn't dead at all – just pretending that way,

So he could get the Little Boy and eat

Him up! But the Little Boy, he was too smart

To climb clean down the tree. – And the old Bear
He can't climb up the tree any more – because when
He fell, he broke one of his – he broke all
His legs! – and then he couldn't climb! But he

Just won't go away and let the Little Boy

Come down out of the tree. And the old Bear-Story

Just growled around there, he did – just growls and went

”Wooh! – woo-ooh!” all the time! And the Little Boy

He had to stay up in the tree – all night –

And without any supper either! – Only there

Were apples on the tree! – And the Little Boy

Ate apples – just all night – and cried – and cried!

Then when it was morning the old Bear went “Wooh!”

Again, and tried to climb up in the tree

And get the Little Boy. – But he couldn't

Climb to save his soul, he couldn't! – And oh! he was mad! –

He just tore up the ground! And went “Woo-ooh!”

And – Oh, yes! – pretty soon, when morning came

All light – so you can see, you know, – why, then

The old Bear found the Little Boy's gun, you know,

That's on the ground. – (And it isn't broken at all –

I just said that!) And so the old Bear thought

He'd take the gun and shoot the Little Boy: –

But Bears they don't know much about shooting guns;

So when he went to shoot the Little Boy,

The old Bear got the other end of the gun

Against his shoulder, instead of the other end –

So when he tried to shoot the Little Boy,

It shot the Bear, it did – and killed him dead!

And then the Little Boy climbed down the tree

And chopped his old wooly head off: – Yes, and kille

The other Bear again, he did – and killed

Both the bears, he did – and took them home

And cooked them, too, and ate them! 

And that's all.

I still think bears have the right idea about winter, whether in "torpor" or so-called hibernation (see last week)

The following is the complete original text of James Whitcomb Riley's "The Bear Story."

THE BEAR STORY

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

W'y, wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out
In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he went out
'Way in the grea'-big woods—he did.—An' he
Wuz goin' along—an' goin' along, you know,
An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go "Wooh!"—
Ist thataway—"Woo-ooh!" An' he wuz skeered,
He wuz. An' so he runned an' clumbed a tree—
A grea'-big tree, he did,—a sicka-more tree.
An' nen he heerd it ag'in: an' he looked round,
An' 't'uz a Bear!—a grea'-big shore-nuff Bear!—
No: 't'uz two Bears, it wuz—two grea'-big Bears—
One of 'em wuz—ist one's a grea'-big Bear.—
But they ist boff went "Wooh!"—An' here they come
To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy
An' eat him up!
          An' nen the Little Boy
He 'uz skeered worse'n ever! An' here come
The grea'-big Bear a-climbin' th' tree to git
The Little Boy an' eat him up—Oh, no!—
It 'uzn't the Big Bear 'at clumb the tree—
It 'uz the Little Bear. So here he come
Climbin' the tree—an' climbin' the tree! Nen when
He git wite clos't to the Little Boy, w'y nen
The Little Boy he ist pulled up his gun
An' shot the Bear, he did, an' killed him dead!
An' nen the Bear he falled clean on down out
The tree—away clean to the ground, he did—
Spling-splung! he falled plum down, an' killed him, too!
An' lit wite side o' where the Big Bear's at.
An' nen the Big Bear's awful mad, you bet!—
'Cause—'cause the Little Boy he shot his gun
An' killed the Little Bear.—'Cause the Big Bear
He—he 'uz the Little Bear's Papa.—An' so here
He come to climb the big old tree an' git
The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' when
The Little Boy he saw the grea'-big Bear
A-comin', he uz badder skeered, he wuz,
Than any time! An' so he think he'll climb
Up higher—'way up higher in the tree
Than the old Bear kin climb, you know.—But he—
He can't climb higher 'an old Bears kin climb,—
'Cause Bears kin climb up higher in the trees
Than any little Boys in all the Wo-r-r-ld!
An' so here come the grea'-big-Bear, he did,—
A-climbin' up—an' up the tree, to git
The Little Boy an' eat him up! An' so
The Little Boy he clumbed on higher, an' higher,
An' higher up the tree—an' higher—an' higher—
An' higher'n iss-here house is!—An' here come
Th' old Bear—clos'ter to him all the time!—
An' nen—first thing you know,—when th' old Big Bear
Wuz wite clos't to him—nen the Little Boy
Ist jabbed his gun wite in the old Bear's mouf
An' shot an' killed him dead!—No; I fergot,—
He didn't shoot the grea'-big Bear at all—
'Cause they 'uz no load in the gun, you know—
'Cause when he shot the Little Bear, w'y, nen
No load 'uz anymore nen in the gun!
But th' Little Boy clumbed higher up, he did—
He clumbed lots higher—an' on up higher—an' higher
An' higher—tel he ist can't climb no higher,
'Cause nen the limbs 'uz all so little, 'way
Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of
The tree, they'd break down wiv him ef he don't
Be keerful! So he stop an' think: An' nen
He look around—An' here come th' old Bear!
An' so the Little Boy make up his mind
He's got to ist git out o' there some way!—
'Cause here come the old Bear!—so clos't, his bref's
Purt 'nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is
Ag'inst his bare feet—ist like old "Ring's" bref
When he's ben out a-huntin' an's all tired.
So when th' old Bear's so clos't—the Little Boy
Ist gives a grea'-big jump fer 'nother tree—
No!—no he don't do that!—I tell you what
The Little Boy does:—W'y, nen—w'y, he—Oh, yes—
The Little Boy he finds a hole up there
'At's in the tree—an' climbs in there an' hides—
An' nen th' old Bear can't find the Little Boy
At all!—But, purty soon th' old Bear finds
The Little Boy's gun 'at's up there—'cause the gun
It's too tall to tooked wiv him in the hole.
So, when the old Bear fin' the gun, he knows
The Little Boy's ist hid 'round somers there,—
An' th' old Bear 'gins to snuff an' sniff around,
An' sniff an' snuff around—so's he kin find
Out where the Little Boy's hid at.—An' nen—nen—
Oh, yes!—W'y, purty soon the old Bear climbs
'Way out on a big limb—a grea'-long limb,—
An' nen the Little Boy climbs out the hole
An' takes his ax an' chops the limb off!… Nen
The old Bear falls k-splunge! clean to the ground
An' bust an' kill hisse'f plum dead, he did!
An' nen the Little Boy he git his gun
An' 'menced a-climbin' down the tree ag'in—
No!—no, he didn't git his gun—'cause when
The Bear falled, nen the gun falled, too—An' broked
It all to pieces, too!—An' nicest gun!—
His Pa ist buyed it!—An' the Little Boy
Ist cried, he did; an' went on climbin' down
The tree—an' climbin' down—an' climbin' down!—
An'-sir! when he 'uz purt'-nigh down,—w'y, nen
The old Bear he jumped up ag'in—an' he
Ain't dead at all—ist 'tendin' thataway,
So he kin git the Little Boy an' eat
Him up! But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart
To climb clean down the tree.—An' the old Bear
He can't climb up the tree no more—'cause when
He fell, he broke one of his—he broke all
His legs!—an' nen he couldn't climb! But he
Ist won't go'way an' let the Little Boy
Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear
Ist growls 'round there, he does—ist growls an' goes
"Wooh!—woo-ooh!" all the time! An' Little Boy
He haf to stay up in the tree—all night—
An' 'thout no supper neether!—On'y they
Wuz apples on the tree!—An' Little Boy
Et apples—ist all night—an' cried—an' cried!
Nen when 'tuz morning th' old Bear went "Wooh!"
Ag'in, an' try to climb up in the tree
An' git the Little Boy.—But he can't
Climb t'save his soul, he can't!—An' oh! he's mad!—
He ist tear up the ground! an' go "Woo-ooh!"
An'—Oh, yes!—purty soon, when morning's come
All light—so's you kin see, you know,—w'y, nen
The old Bear finds the Little Boy's gun, you know,
'At's on the ground.—(An' it ain't broke at all—
I ist said that!) An' so the old Bear think
He'll take the gun an' shoot the Little Boy:—
But Bears they don't know much 'bout shootin' guns;
So when he go to shoot the Little Boy,
The old Bear got the other end the gun
Ag'in' his shoulder, 'stid o' th' other end—
So when he try to shoot the Little Boy,
It shot the Bear, it did—an' killed him dead!
An' nen the Little Boy clumb down the tree
An' chopped his old woolly head off:—Yes, an' killed
The other Bear ag'in, he did—an' killed
All boff the bears, he did—an' tuk 'em home
An' cooked 'em, too, an' et 'em!
                    —An' that's all.

By the way, Riley also wrote “A Bear Family” in his TheBook of Joyous Children which I might post here sometime, but that link lets you find it in Project Gutenberg's many Public Domain books.  I hope you go there often and also donate to their wonderful resource for Keeping The Public in Public Domain.
*********************** 

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, "Keeping the Public in Public Domain."  The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated.  I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20th century.  My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them.  I hope you enjoy discovering new stories.  

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

Other Public Domain story resources I recommend-

• There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, maybe none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I have long recommended it and continue to do so.  He has loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so you can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression you like by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

• You may have noticed I'm no longer certain Dr. Perez has the largest database, although his offering the Motif Index certainly qualifies for those of us seeking specific types of stories.  There's another site, FairyTalez claiming to be the largest, with "over 2000 fairy tales, folktales, and fables" and they are "fully optimized for phones, tablets, and PCs", free and presented without ads.
  
  Between those two sites, there is much for story-lovers, but as they say in infomercials, "Wait, there's more!"

The email list for storytellers, Storytell, discussed Online Story Sources and came up with these additional suggestions:            

         - David K. Brown - http://people.ucalgary.ca/~dkbrown/stories.html

         - Karen Chace - http://karenchace.blogspot.com/search?q=public+domain

         - Richard Martin - http://www.tellatale.eu/tales_page.html

         - Spirit of Trees - http://spiritoftrees.org/featured-folktales

         - Story-Lovers - http://www.story-lovers.com/ is now only accessible through the Wayback Machine, described below, but Jackie Baldwin's wonderful site lives on there, fully searchable manually (the Google search doesn't work), at https://archive.org/ .  It's not easy, but go to Story-lovers.com snapshot for October 22 2016  and you can click on SOS: Searching Out Stories to scroll down through the many story topics and click on the story topic that interests you.

       - Tim Sheppard - http://www.timsheppard.co.uk/story/storylinks.html

       - World of Tales - http://www.worldoftales.com/ 

     
You're going to find many of the links on these sites have gone down, BUT go to the Internet Archive Wayback Machine to find some of these old links.  Tim's site, for example, is so huge probably updating it would be a full-time job.  In the case of Story-Lovers, it's great that Jackie Baldwin set it up to stay online as long as it did after she could no longer maintain it.  Possibly searches maintained it.  Unfortunately Storytell list member, Papa Joe is on both Tim Sheppard's site and Story-Lovers, but he no longer maintains his old Papa Joe's Traveling Storytelling Show website and his Library (something you want to see!) is now only on the Wayback Machine.  It took some patience working back through claims of snapshots but finally in December of 2006 it appears!

Somebody as of this writing whose stories can still be found by his website is the late Chuck Larkin - http://chucklarkin.com/stories.html.  I prefer to list these sites by their complete address so they can be found by the Wayback Machine, a.k.a. Archive.org, when that becomes the only way to find them.

You can see why I recommend these to you. Have fun discovering even more stories!