This August, I went on vacation to Hatteras Island in North Carolina with my cousin and her family and friends - and that is when I discovered Ocracoke, the 9.6 square mile remote Outer Banks island that can only be reached by public ferry, private boat or plane.

Let me more specific.

I didn’t just discover the island.  I fell irrevocably in love with Ocracoke.

It happened quickly.  Our group took the ferry to the island to go to the beach.  Ocracoke is known for its beaches.  I opted out and browsed around a wonderful bookstore, Books to be Red, nosed around the outside of the Deepwater Theater that hosts storytelling and music shows – and then was delighted that the white, weathered, Methodist Church was open.  I went in and sat down.  

And that’s when it happened.

It seemed as though the present disappeared and I heard the ancient rhythms of Ocracoke.  It was as though the tourists, the bustle, the rented golf carts that whizzed up and down the main street of the village didn’t exist. 

I felt the island’s heartbeat.

Connected with its heartbeat.

I must have entered a time warp.  Before I knew it an hour and a half had gone and I came out of that church in a daze knowing something of great personal importance had happened.

Now I have to tell you that I come from island stock.  I was born in England but the majority of my ancestors come from Ireland – both are islands of course – if large ones.   But there is a line of my predecessors that come from the Isle of Man, a small wind-blown island between the north west coast of England and Ireland about three times the size of Ocracoke but nowadays, as a tax haven, infinitely more crowded.

It was as though the genes of my forebears were rising up and thanking me for taking them back to a relatively isolated island.

I knew I would be returning to Ocrocoke many times.

I visited the island three times that week.  In between trips I did research.  I already knew it was the home of Donald Davis, America’s foremost storyteller - a genuinely lovely man - who lives there with his absolutely wonderful wife, Merle.  But I found out that Ocracoke has a music and storytelling festival, a vibrant arts community, and a week-long Ocracoke arts and traditions school that is held every fall. 

I inhaled everything I could about the history of the island, the local dialect - which was so reminiscent of the accent in the West of England where I went to university – the food lore (figs are abundant on the island and there is a local plant that can be made into tea.)  I was transfixed by incredible stories of shipwrecks, bravery, pirates, storms, wild ponies and a selfless, loving, generous people who have survived against all odds perched on a magical island thrust out into the sea off the shores of North Carolina.

I left for home and planned my return.

The following week Hurricane Irene hit.

I sat glued to my computer reading weather websites, local blogs and watching webcams as Irene lashed the Island.  I prayed deeply and fervently for protection for all those who lived there and for their property.

I thank the Almighty that my newly discovered Shangri-La did not become Atlantis.

Ocracoke survived - as it had over the centuries. - this time with minimal damage and flooding.  (Although Highway 12 that goes from Ocracoke's free ferry across and off  Hatteras Island was severed in five places leaving Ocracoke even more isolated than usual, albeit - most probably - temporarily.)

                                    ………………………………………..                                 

When I think about my instant attachment to Ocacoke Island I am reminded of the book The Polar Express.

In that story, the first gift of Christmas was a bell from the harness of one of Santa’s reindeer.

Adults couldn’t hear it.

You could only hear it if you truly believed.

I feel as though I heard the bell ringing on Ocracoke. 

I felt the stories and the magic.

Five is the number of grace – and I have been encircled with grace this year since the last time I wrote this blog at the beginning of March.

Looking back from Spring to now, when the world here in Frederick, Maryland is transitioning away from Summer, I see five events in the last five months that stand out.  They are like stepping stones among the delicious swirl of storytelling happenings such as performances, festivals, swaps, school and library visits and teaching at an arts-integrated middle-school summer camp, that have swept me in a whirl of words to the brink of fall.

In March, while attending the Virginia Storytelling Alliance (VASA)’s conference - The Gathering - to do an evening concert with Michael Reno Harrell and Ralph Chatham – I was voted on to the VASA board.  I am delighted to have been asked to serve this wonderful grass-roots storytelling  organization that stretches from the mountains to the sea.  My first board meeting will be in October ‘11.  Wonderful times with like-minded story lovers lie ahead!

Below:  Michael Reno Harrell, Geraldine Buckley and Ralph Chatham
(Photograph Courtesy of Irma Rockwell)

In April I danced all around the kitchen in utter delight after I was asked by Susan O’Connor of the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough Tennessee to be an Exchange Place Teller – which is an incredible honor.  Six people are selected each year from the whole of the nation to tell a twelve minute tale in front of 1,500 story lovers during this most prestigious of all US festivals.  I will be joined by my friend Storyteller Adam Booth who tells a riveting tall tale!

In May I had the most delightful time in Dunbar, West Virginia, home of my good friend National Storyteller Suzi Whaples who absolutely spoiled me over my birthday weekend which culminated in the two of us doing a joint house concert for her story loving, highly appreciative friends.

Suzi is rightfully proud of her state, and her heritage as a child of the Appalachian Mountains and coal fields.  During my visit she gave me a crash course in understanding West Virginian ways and words while driving me through the “hollas” and passes of her beautiful state.  I always loved her stories, many of which are told through the eyes of her granny or her great aunt – but I had a new understanding of their depth after seeing the places on the land where Suzi's relatives lived and loved and survived. 

June’s stepping stone was the first annual Maryland Storytelling Summit spearheaded by Storyteller Ellie Shinham.  During this fabulous day - filled with fascinating workshops, round table dicussions, tales and laughter - different streams of storytelling, such as the Griots' Circle of Maryland and Arianna Ross’s innovative Story Tapestries,  came together to share ideas.  Many of the groups had not heard of each other before and new, strong bonds were formed.

I was delighted to have been selected to be one of the tellers for the evening concert together with Storytellers  Noa Baum, Bob Smith, Walter Jones and Jane Dorfman.  We were a diverse group of tellers and yet we were told we blended into a seamless whole.  Storytelling magic!

July brought the Capital Fringe Festival.  I performed my storytelling show “Destination?  Slammer!” at the prestigious Goethe Institut steps from China Town in Washington DC. A fringe audience is very different from a usual storytelling audience in that a fringe goer is often looking for theatre (not telling) that is edgy, avant-garde and risqué.   Nevertheless I received excellent reviews from the Washington City Paper, the DC Theatre Scene and the Maryland Theatre Guide – and many lovely conversations with appreciative audience members at the end of each show.  Bless them every one!

Five stepping stones in a five month period filled with grace and stories.

I love the life of an itinerant storyteller, speaker and teaching artist. 

Long may the grace continue!

Last year I wrote about my visit to a puppet maker’s house that appeared to have stepped right out of a fairy tale. 

Good things spring out of visits to once upon a time land. 

 While I was at Michael and Judith Cotter’s home (owners of Blue Sky Puppet Theater) I picked up a brochure for a course called The Teaching Artists Institute (TAI) administrated by Young Audences/Arts For Learning.  

I read that TAI is a professional arts-in-education program for teaching artists and classroom teachers.  Both learn what the other needs to flourish.  Their collaboration ends in a minimum four day residency for the artist in their teacher-partner’s classroom that would hopefully lead to many other similar residencies. 

It sounded good. 

The deadline was imminent. 

I applied on the last day and at the last hour and it has filled the first few months of 2011 with learning and delight!

At the beginning of January, twenty five amazingly talented artists from the fields of music, dance, art and theater (which includes poetry and storytelling) gathered in Salisbury on Maryland’s Eastern Shore for a 3 day intensive seminar launching a six month course to learn how to present their craft in schools incorporating both academic standards and 21^st Century Skills.  Partner-teachers joined on the third day

21^st Century Skills intrigued me. 

Last November I saw the documentary Waiting For Superman. This film outlines the problems inherent in the American public school system resulting in a increasing inability to produce enough educated graduates that can adequately compete with their peers from other nations.

A considerable percentage of students from failing schools end up in prison with no qualifications.

This was real to me. 

Many of the men under my care while I was a Chaplain at the largest men’s prison in Maryland came from such schools.  One of the benefits of the prison system, in Maryland at least, was that it was compulsory for high-school dropouts under 25 to get their GED (or at least attend classes.)

21^st Century Skills was developed as a response to the nation's educational crisis.

A group of top educators and business people joined forces to decide what skills young people needed to succeed in today’s world. 

They narrowed the selection down to creativity, innovation, critical thinking, problem solving, collaboration and social and cross cultural savvy.

TAI leadership were delighted as they realized that many teaching artists were already naturally incorporating these concepts into their classes.

The seminar teaches participants to be aware of the standards and skills and shape the work they are already doing in a way will have the greatest impact in the classroom and in students’ lives.

One of the wonderful things about the course was that from the first hello there was a joyous sense of collaboration between the teachers of the course – all professional teaching artists – and the artists themselves.

Teaching sessions sizzled with creativity and rocked with laughter. 

Professional collaboration was entered into. 

Friendships forged.

On the third day the teacher-partners were introduced into the mix and another layer of mutually beneficial collaboration began.

The TAI course consists of the retreat followed by several Saturdays working on the new residency, including one day recently where we got to see segments of other people’s work.  The residencies themselves will happen in April and graduation will take place in June.

I will be going into the absolutely delightful Elizabeth Braden’s 8^th grade language arts classroom at Southern Middle School in Severna Park, MD teaching students to tell folk tales and personal stories as well as how to listen to others and how to best connect with an audience.

Such fun!

I have learned so much through TAI!  Besides academic concepts I have discovered the joys of beat boxing, steel drumming, collaborative dance, vaudeville mime including juggling and plate spinning, play writing and deaf theater and I have been knit into a supportive network of teaching artists. 

Bliss!

There is hope for America’s school system.

It is called arts-integration.

It results in students imbibing urgently needed 21^st Century skills almost by osmosis – and certainly with laughter.

Creativity is a powerful tool.

And that is no fairy tale!

 What an extraordinary storytelling year this has been!

(And yes I know I am repeating myself from my last post - but truth is worth saying twice!)

As I write this in the last few hours of 2010, I am amazed at how many doors have opened this year, how many new friends I have made and how many soul stirring as well as absolutely hilarious stories I have heard. 

But I have been lax of late. 

I haven’t mentioned two events that meant much to me and I don’t want the old year to die without shining a spotlight on them.

The first was participating in the Lower Brandywine Storytelling Festival at the Lower Brandywine Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, Delaware on November 5^th and 6^th and the second was winning an award for this blog!

The Lower Brandywine festival was an absolute delight filled with an abundance of the best storytellers in the nation, including Willy Caflin, Milbre Burch, Bill Harley, Andy Offutt Irwin, Bil Lepp, Kim Weitkamp, Ed Stivender, Doug Elliot and Slash Coleman.  It was an honor to participate, and great fun to attend with my cousin, Vivienne Jones.

The festival was held in the sanctuary and the grounds of one of the oldest churches in the nation (founded on October 15, 1720.)  A tent with clear sides had been erected at the edge of the ancient graveyard and at night the light shone out and could be seen for miles.  National Storyteller Bil Lepp described the scene superbly when he said that the tent looked like a giant snow globe waiting for the hand of God to shake it!

It was a memorable weekend filled with laughter and wonder!

Then just a few days ago I got a chance to relive the whole event. 

Michael Wright, the director of the festival, sent me a copy of a letter that he had written to Susan O’Connor at the International Storytelling Center in Jonesborough, Tennessee.  

He talks about his festival and then mentions me, saying:

“What a wonderful woman.  I could listen to her tell stories all day!  She is hysterically funny, engaging, and really bonds with those in the audience.”

To say I was a delighted was a complete understatement!  I was absolutely thrilled!

What a wonderful compliment! 

Be still my beating heart!

Shrink back my fast-growing head!

Thank you Michael!

Secondly, I received an award for this blog.  It is a Masters Award for Storytelling.  What an unexpected honor.

And I am in very august company!  Many fine storytellers and brilliant blogs were listed. 

Oh happy day!

Let me end 2010 with an extract from a poem that I love.  Called At The Gate Of The Year it was written by Marie Louise Haskins (1876-1957) and it was quoted by King George Vl in his Christmas broadcast at the beginning of the Second World War. 

It is both comforting and encouraging.

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year,

“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

And he replied:

“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.

That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

Happy New Year everyone!  May 2011 be a wonderful one, filled with love, grace, health, success and laughter!

The land of once-upon-a-time has surrounded me this extraordinary storytelling year!

Rediscovering many old childhood favorites, I have inhaled fairy tales and folk tales by the bookload as I climbed a steep story-world learning curve.  So it seemed perfectly natural to find that the theme of this year’s Frederick’s 72 Hour Film Fest was fairy tales and fables reinvented.

On September 30^th at a costumed launch party, forty three teams of film makers were randomly given the names of a well known fairy story or fable together with a “poisoned apple challenge” such as having to include an overturned chair or a ticking clock in their movie or having 30 seconds shaved off an already tight production time.  From that moment the teams had 72 hours to make a five minute film – 6 minutes for professional entries -  and all the creations were shown at Frederick’s Weinburg theater the following weekend.

I am delighted to tell you that the company that created my website, recorded my CD and designed my storytelling publicity material – Connectivity Group – won the best of show for the second year running – together with a slew of other awards.

Connectivity Group LLC (whose core team is brothers John and Alan Saunders and their father Bruce Saunders) were given the challenge of creating a film around the theme of Tom Thumb – be careful what you wish for – and their poisoned apple challenge was losing time.  Their entry, Wish, complete with an original music score, oozes with the creativity and professionalism that sets the company apart, and it also manages to have the dark, sinister edge of original fables.  See it here.

Congratulations to the Saunders and Connectivity Group! 

Although you were up against some excellent film makers and other spectacular entries your victory was very well deserved!

As we would say in England – home of so many fairy stories and fables…

Wish was wicked!

Just before Thanksgiving I received a wonderful greeting from Mirielle McKell on Facebook wishing me joy and family delight during the upcoming festivities.

Mirielle is one of my many new storytelling blessings in this wonderful year that has been awash with stories.

She is the mother of Bill Mckell, the director of my first Storytelling Festival, the Southern Ohio Storytelling, Arts and Music Festival, held every year in Chillicothe the weekend after Labor Day.

After signing the contract in May to perform in Chillicothe September 9th -11th, I looked up the city on Mapquest and saw that it was fifteen and a half hours away. 

I’d need to get a flight.

Wonderfully organized Bill McKell sent a letter to the tellers saying that if we were flying, Columbus was the nearest airport, it was an hour away whereas the next closest was Cincinnati – two hours away.

The cheapest direct flight I could find was in to Cincinnati.  I booked my non-refundable ticket.

Then a friend phoned and asked if I was driving.  “No!”  I said.  “It is over fifteen hours away.”

“Never!” he said.

“It is!”  said I.

We both dove for our computers to get to Mapquest.

He was right.

I’d put in the wrong Chillicothe!  It turns out that there are five places called Chillicothe in the US.  The furthest away is in Texas and the closest is Ohio.  Clearly the Chillicothe I had originally looked up was in Indiana, which was indeed fifteen and a half hours away from Frederick, Maryland.  The Chillicothe in Ohio is just over six. 

Thank goodness my flight was landing near the festival!  I could have been in Texas!  Or Missouri! 

If I had known the correct distance I would have driven – but then I would have missed out on two delightful treats that happened on the way to and from the airport.

The first was meeting Bill’s sister, Nancy Mckell Gomez who picked me up from the airport. 

She has just published her first book – a sweet, inspirational story for children called Little Sylvia Seagull in which a seagull that is teased and bullied becomes a heroine when she leads her persecutors home through unexpected stormy weather.  For the whole two hours we talked publishing, books and shared our life stories.  It was instant connection – always a treat!

The meat in the sandwich was the festival itself.  Held under a tent in Yoctangee Park at the Pump House Art Gallery it was intimate, with an appreciative audience and a wonderful line up of tellers.  Knowing that it was my first storytelling festival, National Tellers Bil Lepp, Andy Offutt Irwin and Lyn Ford very graciously tucked me under their wise wings, showed me the ropes and poured out advice.  Together with fellow tellers Adele Brown and storyteller and musician Joseph Helfrich they wove powerful spells with words and music until the late summer air sizzled with creativity, inspiration and laughter.

And I was thrilled with Bill McKell’s statement about my performance:

“It was wonderful having Geraldine share her delightful tales at the Southern Ohio Storytelling Festival.  Her fascinating stories, British charm and animated wit had our audiences enthralled.  We eagerly look forward to her return.”

Is that sound I hear my head swelling?

On Sunday morning, on my way home, I was invited by Mirelle Mckell – Bill’s absolutely lovely mother - to visit her and her husband Tom's hundred and fifty year old home where she showed me their very own secret passage that has been built into the fabric of the house.  Be still my beating heart!  (One of the stories in my CD Destination?  Slammer! reveals my childhood love of secret passages…)

All the way to the airport I channeled Nancy Drew and pretended that I was tossing long titian hair,charging ahead in a blue sports car and reveling in another mystery solved!

Seeing Mirielle’s Thanksgiving greeting brought all the delicious memories back.

Happy Thanksgiving, Advent and Christmas dear Mirelle – and to all the Mckells.

It is people like you who help make the storytelling world magical.

Thank you!

This has been a season of firsts! 

In the past months I have experienced many storytelling firsts – but the most thrilling of the lineup was going to the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough Tennessee.  

This festival began in 1973 when 60 people sat on hay bales to hear Appalachian tales told from the back of a hay wagon parked beside the town courthouse. 

It was so successful it became a yearly event - and grew!

Now about 10,000 people pour into Jonesborough for three days over the first weekend of October every year to hear the best storytellers from America and around the globe tell riveting tales under huge tents that are dotted throughout this lovely town – the oldest in Tennessee.

 I first heard about the festival ten years ago. 

After completing a week long residential storytelling course in England I went to the Greenbelt Arts Festival with my friend, storyteller and cinematographer Shan Stevens. We met some tellers  from the storytelling graduate program at East Tennessee State University at Jonesborough who told us about the National Festival. 

I started salivating – I wanted to go. 

But it has taken a decade for that sown seed to sprout.

This year was harvest time – not only was I going but I knew several of the featured storytellers – which made everything even more exciting – if that were possible! 

Friends Kim Weitkamp and Suzi Whaples were featured “New Voices” – and they both did superbly. 

Each received well-deserved standing ovations at the end of their main one hour sets. I thought my heart would burst with pride on their behalf!

Friends Bil Lepp and Andy Offut Irwin also were telling – and they were as wonderful as usual. 

In his main one hour set, Bil took a break from his normal tall tales style – he is a Champion Liar – a five time winner of the West Virginia Liar's Contest – as well as an ordained Methodist Minister.  He told a true World War ll story, "The GOYA’s, 551^st Infantry Parachute Division," in the voice of Suzi Whaples' father whom he had interviewed some years before. 

Bil was utterly believable and so, in spirit, we followed the 18 year old West Virginia serviceman through boot camp, invasion of France, Battle of the Bulge and post war occupation in a tale that was humorous and harrowing and made history live. 

It was an amazing, moving, tour de force. 

Then there were more glorious, glorious words and images from superb storytellers such as 92 year old Kathryn Windham, Donald Davis, Carmen Deedy, Kevin Kling, Eth-Noh-Tech and a host of others.  On Saturday there was a fabulous midnight cabaret with Bill Harley and a group of his musician friends.  (All were new to me except for Donald Davis whom I had seen perform in Williamsburg two weeks previously.  I snagged a seat on the front row.  I was close enough to see his nose hairs!  Glory!)

The only difficulty was deciding what to see because going to hear one teller meant missing someone else.  Decisions!  Decisions!  I was in the tents first thing in the morning and had to be outed with a crowbar as the last word of the night was greeted by applause.  Oh such delicious hours!

Jonesborough is a word lover's paradise - and I am in love with words and stories!

On late Sunday afternoon, after it was all over, a friend of a friend, Sarah Keplinger Hughes, who I had met once before ten years ago, whisked me away for a delicious steak dinner (thank you Sarah!)  I ended the evening in Storyteller Connie Gill’s magnificent saltwater pool and freshwater Jacuzzi, reliving  my recent firsts and reminiscing about the weekend.

Of all the jewel like moments strung together to make a glorious storytelling necklace – one particular event stands out.

The day before the festival started I had gone to get my patch of material that serves as ticket.  When the volunteer with the kind eyes heard it was my first Jonesborough festival he said:

“Welcome Home!” 

Then he got out his wallet, took out three dollars and bought me a lanyard with a clear pouch hanging from it so that I could wear my entry patch with ease. 

It was an unforgettable gesture!

I felt I had indeed come home. 

I had found my tribe.

And when that happens, you know you’ll be back.