Folks Are Talking

A former feature writer and columnist on the Bluefield, W. Va., Daily Telegraph has released a double CD of oral histories titled “Folks Are Talking” from men and women he interviewed for the newspaper in the 1970s.

Garret Mathews, who moved to Evansville, Ind., in 1987 to write the metro column for The Courier, retired in 2011 after penning more than 10,000 articles on a variety of subjects from a 91-year-old female bootlegger in Princeton, Ky., to the members of a snake-handling church in Jolo, W. Va.

Mathews selected 28 of his early Daily Telegraph stories for “Folks Are Talking.” They include an early United Mine Workers organizer, a horse trader, survivors of coal mine explosions, coal camp baseball players, a child born during the deadly flood of 1977 and a female furrier who carves muskrats while eating peanut-butter sandwiches.

“These men and women are from a bygone era and most are long dead,” Mathews says. “I wanted to record our time together as a way of keeping their stories alive.”
Music evocative of the region that includes southern West Virginia and southwest Virginia is included on the double CD.

Copies of “Folks Are Talking” will be furnished to public and school libraries in the two-state area as well as to historians and colleges and universities that offer Appalachian studies.

“It’s as I point out in the introduction: You just don’t find these folks any more,” Mathews says. “What they shared with me, I want to share with future generations.”

“Folks Are Talking” was featured on a recent interview segment with Joe Dashiell on WDBJ-TV in Roanoke, Va. Selections from the double CD are also being played on the public television station in Roanoke.

The double CD costs $17 plus $3 shipping and handling. Checks should be sent to “Folks Are Talking,” c/o Garret Mathews, 7954 Elna Kay Drive, Evansville, Indiana 47715. For more information or to listen to four of the tracks or to order online, go to www.folksaretalking.com

The Erl-King

This is one of my very favorite poems. I can just imagine my German ancestors living in fear of the Erl-king. What better way to celebrate All Hallows Eve than with the German folktale/song/poem, The Erl-King?

Der Elrkonig (The Erl-king)
by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Who's riding so late through th' endless wild?
The father 't is with his infant child;
He thinks the boy 's well off in his arm,
He grasps him tightly, he keeps him warm.

My son, say why are you hiding your face ?
Oh father, the Erlking 's coming apace,
The Erlking 's here with his train and crown!
My son, the fog moves up and down.

Be good, my child, come, go with me!
I know nice games, will play them with thee,
And flowers thou 'It find near by where I live,
pretty dress my mother will give.

Dear father, oh father, and do you not hear
What th' Erlking whispers so close to my ear?
Be quiet, do be quiet, my son,
Through leaves the wind is rustling anon.

Do come, my darling, oh come with me!
Good care my daughters will take of thee,
My daughters will dance about thee in a ring,
Will rock thee to sleep and will prettily sing.

Dear father, oh father, and do you not see
The Erlking's daughters so near to me?
My son, my son, no one 's in our way,
The willows are looking unusually gray.

I love thee, thy beauty I covet and choose,
Be willing, my darling, or force I shall use!
Dear father, oh father, he seizes my arm!
The Erlking, father, has done me harm.

The father shudders, he darts through the wild;
With agony fill him the groans of his child.
He reached his farm with fear and dread;
The infant son in his arms was dead.

Gardening Folk Customs

Since harvesting, gardening and preserving the bounty of fruits and vegetables seems to be the topic of the day, I thought I'd post some rather obscure (at least to me) gardening folklore. These beliefs were collected from throughout Appalachia, and while I have heard of some of them, believe a few of them, and even swear by a couple of them--by and large, I had not heard of most of these before.

I have previously posted similar folklore items and the readers of this blog seem to enjoy them, so I thought I'd give it another try.

Here's the list. Do you know of any other folk beliefs pertaining to gardening?

Eat sugar before planting fruit trees to make the fruit sweeter.

Apples with red spots inside means that the tree's root grew into the body of a murdered person.

Drive a rusty nail on the north side of the tree for better yields.

The number of seeds in an apple will be your lucky number.

Whip a poor yielding tree and it will bear better the next year.

Plowing on Good Friday will cause the ground to bleed.

Seeds planted on St. Patrick's Day grow better.

Gardens do better if seeds are planted on even-numbered days of the month.

Don't thank a person who gives you seeds or roots, or the plants will never grow.

Plant potatoes at night so the eyes don't see light.

If you laugh while planting corn, the kernels will have big gaps in them.

Planting peppers when you are mad makes the peppers grow hotter.

If a red-headed person plants peppers, they will be hotter than normal.

For a good crop of watermelons, crawl to the patch backwards on the first day of May.

Put a four-leaf clover in your shoe and make a wish. When you lose the clover, your wish will come true.

A five-leaf clover brings bad luck.

Grass won't grow where human blood has been spilled.

Catch a thistle seed, then blow it into the air. If it doesn't hit the ground before it gets out of sight, your wish will come true, but only if you don't tell anyone the wish.

Crushing rosemary into a glass of wine will boost mental powers.

Make a wish on a load of hay, but don't look until the load is out of sight, and the wish will come true.

Flowers which bloom out of season are evil.

Dreaming of thorns is bad luck.

Bury a hickory stick in a moist place, and it will turn to stone in seven years.

Weeping willows will bring the planter bad luck.

Conduct most of your garden chores during the waxing of the moon. Light nights make light crops: never plant when the moon is full.

All above-ground crops should be planted with the new moon.

Root crops should be planted during the last two days of a full moon.

If you burn potato peelings, your crop won't grow the next year.

Root crops should be planted under the sign of Taurus for quicker growth.

Seeds planted under Virgo will result in many leaves but not much fruit.

Sweet potatoes dug on a dark night will be sweeter and keep better.

It's bad luck to burn wood from a tree struck by lightning.

Planting on Friday is bad luck, unless the zodiac sign is right.

Tomatoes should be planted on Memorial Day.

Friday is a good day to plant crops which dangle from branches because Friday is hangman's day.

Don't plant seeds until after the apple trees bloom.

It's good luck to steal herbs.

Tobacco grows well if planted under the sign of Cancer.

Never plant under a north wind. Trees blossoming twice in a year brings bad luck.

When cutting wood, spit in your palms for good luck.

A snowy winter portends a good year for crops.

A saying for planting tobacco: "Some for you, some for I, some for the devil, some for the fly."

Hang a horseshoe in a fruit tree for a heavy crop.

After planting a hill of beans, press the soil with your foot for better luck.

If you point your finger at a cucumber bloom, the bloom will fall off.

Beans planted on dark nights will grow the best crops.

Plant beans early in the morning if you want to have the crop come in earlier in the season.

For a better cabbage crop, sew the seeds in your bedclothes on March 17th.

Corn should be planted under the new moon so that most of the growing will be done at the tip.

Wood cut on light nights will burn hotter.

Grass seed won't freeze if planted when the moon points down.

Corn planted under the waning moon grows slower but produces larger ears.

If onion bulbs are planted upside down, they will come out in China.

To keep away crows, kill one and hang it from a garden pole.

Onions should be planted in the old of the moon.

Trees are best trimmed in the full moon of February or November.

Peas should be planted as near to twelve noon as possible.

Tie a piece of white string across the garden to keep birds away.

Cut briars and weeds when the moon is waning to kill them.

Plant flowers under Virgo for the best blooms.

Corn should be planted when the dogwoods are in bloom and the poplar leaves
are as big as squirrel ears.

Wheat always ripens in the light of the moon, not the dark.

To make hydrangeas blue, put rusty nails at the roots. Plant watermelons before breakfast for best results.

Cobs from seed corn should be placed in running water and not burned.

If two people's hoes hit together, they will work in the same field next year.

Mercian Tittery Ay

Today I thought I'd post an old folk song that I know called, "Mercian Tittery Ay". However, it seems that most people know this song as "Eggs & Marrowbones". I remember my Grandmaw Mary used to sing this in her kitchen while she cooked. She would hum and sing, and I was expected to join in on the chorus. I always thought this song was so funny.


Grandmaw Mary in the kitchen. I can still hear her singing, "Mercian Tittery Ay"

I never did know what the words "Mercian Tittery Ay" meant, but I've heard a similar version of this song (but not exactly the same) by Maggie Hammons. Hers is the only recorded version that I know of that uses the "Mercian Tittery Ay" in it. All of the other versions uses a different chorus line. Webster County, where Maggie Hammons was from, and Pendleton County, where my Granny was from, are fairly close to each other, and pretty much only a mountain separates the two locations. I wonder if they knew the same people, or if their ancestors came from the same place in Ireland. If the latter is the case, that would put this ballad in Pendleton County by the 1820's.

From what I can find, this folk song is Irish in origin and is classified as a Broadside Ballad. It is also known as "The Old Woman from Wexford".
=======================
Mercian Tittery Ay (Eggs and Marrowbones)

There was a woman up on the hill,
In a big house she did dwell,
She loved her husband dearly,
But another man twice as well.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

One day she went to the doctor,
Some medicine for to find,
She said, "Doctor give me something,
For to make the old man blind."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

"Feed him eggs and marrowbone,
And make him suck them all;
It won't be very long until
Your man won't see at all."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

She fed him eggs and marrowbone,
And made him suck them all,
It wasn't very long until,
He couldn't see the wall.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

The old man said, "I'd drown myself,
But that would be a sin."
The woman said, "I'll go with you,
To see you don't fall in."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

They walked along together,
'Til they came to the river's brim,
But he said, "I'll not drown myself,
You'll have to push me in.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

The woman made the offer,
And had a run and go;
But the old man quickly stepped aside,
And she fell in the river below.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

She screamed and she hollered
Just as loud as she could bawl,
He said, "My dear beloved wife,
I still can't see at all."

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

She swam and swam and swam until,
She could no further swim;
When he grabbed up a cedar pole
And pushed her deeper in.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.

Now eatin' eggs and marrowbones,
Won't make your old man blind;
So if you want to be shed of him,
You must sneak up from behind.

Mercian Tittery Tittery Tittery
Mercian Tittery Tittery-Ay.
========

So have any of you out there ever heard this song? Do any of you know the origins of the words "Mercian Tittery Ay"?

In Search of Rose Conelly

The ballad Rose Conolly follows the “murdered sweetheart” pattern of ballads. Folk songs of this type are commonly found in England, Ireland and the Appalachian region of America. Some similar songs are “Little Omie Wise”, “The Wexford Girl”, “The Cruel Ship’s Carpenter” and “The Old Oak Tree”.

Most folks credit Ireland as the place of origin for Rose Conolly, and the Bunting Collection says it was collected in Coleraine in 1811. But in fact, the lyrics and tune are entirely different between the Bunting version and all later versions. In 1979, folklorist D.K. Wilgus searched for Rose Conolly in the archives of the folklore department of University College in Dublin, widely credited as being the repository for the most complete collection of Irish folklore. In my opinion, Wilgus research is the best available for tracking down the origins of Rose Conolly. He could find no exact match, but he did however, locate the following folksong that was collected in Galway in 1929, it is obviously akin to the Appalachian version of Rose Conolly.

Rosey O’Connell

It was on a Saturday morning
My true love and I did meet
Yonder a soddely garden
Our sorrows we did relate.

A bottle of poison I brought her
Of which she did not know
Which made me murder my darling
All under the banks below.

Rosey O’Connell she loved me
As dear as she loved her life
It was my whole intention
To make her my loving wife.

When it was the devil’s temptation
That soon entangled me
Which made my murder my darling
All under the ivy tree.

My mother she reared me tenderly
For seven long years and more
But seldom she ever thought of
That the gallows would be my store

My father often told me
That money would set me free
But now I am found in this country
And its hung I’ll surely be

I live in a castle of comfort
A little beyond the fair
Grief it is my comfort
And sorrow is my care.

My bolsted feathers are dingling
The whole length of day
I have but the cold floor to walk on
To pass the time away.

My father stood at the hall-door
With a watery eye
Looking at his only dear son
Hanging on the gallows so high

I leave it written on my tombstone
To read as they pass it by
That my name is James Mullrooney
That murdered Rosey O’Connell.

Since this version of the song was collected in 1929, it isn’t exactly safe to say that it is the precursor to the Appalachian version of Rose Conolly, especially since there are documented versions of the song here in America that are dated before 1929. Added to this is the flow of folks songs at the time from America to Ireland, as was the case of “The Boston Burglar”, “The Last Fierce Charge” and “Twenty One Years”. This reverse osmosis of folksongs from American to Ireland is largely attributed one of two things, either to Irish immigrants returning home from America after finding that the streets here weren’t paved with gold; or with former soldiers of the Civil War who went to Ireland to lead the Fenian Rebellion. So we are left with the question, did the ballad come from Ireland to America, or did the ballad originate in America and make its way back to Ireland?

In fact, the earliest documented report of Rose Conolly in the United States was found in the oil fields of Wetzel County, West Virginia, in 1895. American folklorists subsequently found the same song with little variation in Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky and even as far west as Wisconsin. The Wisconsin link is attributed to lumber men who left Kentucky to work the timber camps in the Great Lakes region.

Interestingly, if you read the original lyrics to Rose Conolly that were gathered in Wetzel County, WV, you can get another clue as to where the song began. There is the line:

“I had a bottle of burgaloo wine,
My love she could not know,
That I would murder my darlin’
Down on the banks below”.

Later versions of the song called it “burgundy wine”, or “burglar’s wine” but the earliest mention is “burgaloo wine”. What is burgaloo wine? It is a type of pear wine that was commonly made in central Virginia in the late 1700’s into the early 1800’s. If you follow migration patterns of people of that day, many families came from central Virginia, into the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia and then into north-central West Virginia. This was typically within one or two generations. There were earlier migrations as well, for example, the Whetzel family for which Wetzel County, WV was named, was in the area by the middle of the 18th century, and they hailed from the Lost River Valley in what is now Hardy County ,WV (Lost River valley is adjacent to the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia). So this would place some aspect of the origins of the song in central Virginia between 1760-1830, but probably leaning toward the earlier portion of that timeframe. As time went on, many people could no longer relate to “burgaloo wine” so they renamed it something they could relate to, and today most versions use the term “burgundy wine”.

The ballad “Rose Conolly” was first recorded in Virginia is October 1928, it was recorded again in North Carolina in August 1937, but perhaps the most famous recording of the song was by Charlie Monroe in March of 1947, and he changed the title to “Down in the Willow Garden”.

My wife Shirley recorded “Rose Conelly” in July 2008, and I’ll include a Youtube video of her version of the song. Shirley said her Daddy taught her this song, and he got the song from his Granddaddy who said he had heard the song for years and years, so that would put the song in southern West Virginia during the late 1800’s.

Click here to hear Shirley sing “Rose Conelly”.

I will also post the “new” lyrics to the version of “Rose Conelly” that Shirley recorded, and you can compare them to the version collected in Galway, Ireland in 1929. Certainly, the two songs are akin, but who knows which is the parent and which is the child. Here are the lyrics Shirley uses:

“Rose Conelly”, traditional, with variations by Shirley Stewart Burns.

Down in the Willow Garden
My love and I did meet
And there we went a-courtin’
My love fell fast asleep

I had a bottle of burgaloo wine
My love she could not know
That I would murder my darlin’
Down on the banks below

I drew a saber through her
It was a dreadful knife
I threw her in the river
Which was a bloody sight

My father had often told me
That money would set me free
If I would murder that dear little girl
who carried my baby

Now he sits at his cabin door
Wiping his tear-brimmed eyes
For his only son is hangin’
Upon the scaffold high

My race is run beneath the sun
Hells gates lay open for me
For I did murder that dear little girl
Whose name is Rose Conelly.

Copyright, Shirley Stewart Burns 2008.

Click here to hear Shirley sing "Rose Conelly"
------

So perhaps Rose Conolly does hail from Ireland, but just as likely she hails from somewhere in Appalachia. As do the people here, our music comes from just as many points of origin. One thing is for sure, she is uniquely Appalachian now.

Christmastime in the Land of the Belsnickel

Here is a story that I wrote about the Belsnickel. Please don't refer to him as Santa Claus, or else I'll have to go Belsnickel on you! This was originally written as a children's story, but as the story progressed I think it became apparent that it is a little much for most children. The Belsnickel story here is an amalgamation of Belsnickel tales that I have heard all of my life. My Grandmaw Mary always said that the Belsnickel lived up on North Mountain rocks, up the mountain from where we lived. I find this incredible since there are so many other creatures that inhabit these cliffs (i.e. Old Fon, The Snollygaster, Old Saul). Many of the tidbits that you will read in my story come from different tales told by my Grandmaw Mary.

People where I am from in Germany Valley, WV, still talk about the Belsnickel and belsnickling, which occured every year around Christmastime. People dressed up in costumes and went door to door, scaring people and it was all great fun. People tried to guess who you were in the costume, and if they didn't, they had to give you a cup of hot cider or some other form of treat. While this belsnickling still occurs in some parts of Pendleton County, it doesn't in my old neighborhood, the last time anyone can remember it was in the early 1980's. My Dad talks about going belsnickling when he was a kid and remembers it fondly, he said that if people expected belsnicklers to come by, they'd make up cakes, cookies and other goodies and pass them out. Dad also recalls that some homes they visited gave them fruit (Apples & Oranges), which to him were a real treat. You have to remember, this is the dead of winter in a very harsh area, so I'm sure these belsnicklers were a sight to see, carrying lanterns and singing and hollering at the top of their lungs, celebrating a centuries old tradition from a far-off land. Keeping with the traditions of my ancestors, I proudly display my belsnickel every Christmas, and even have a huge belsnickel that tops our Christmas tree.

The following is an old photo of belsnicklers in the Bland Hills of Pendleton County. The 3rd man from the left is Boss Bland, a friend of my grandpaw Alfred Kile (whom I talked about in the post "The Ballad of Alfred and Attie"). Notice the masks at the belsnicklers feet!



========================

Christmastime in the Land of the Belsnickel
by Matthew Burns, December 2008.

There is a land
Of wilderness glades, and craggy cliffs,
Of hidden coves and ancient forests.
Home of the Belsnickel.

Among this dark forest
Under the roots of a great oak tree
There is a limestone cavern
That is completely hidden from view.

In this dank cavern, Belsnickel makes his home,
He is hairy and covered in animal pelts,
With moss in his hair and lichens on his skin.
He lives in the cave, with his loyal servant Rupert.

Rupert is donned in the same manner as Belsnickel,
Only he is even dirtier,
Blackened from the soot of many fires
And smudged with the grease of many meals.

Every year, when it gets to be about this time of year.
When the leaves have been shed, the winter winds start to howl,
And the forest creatures prepare for winter in their own way.
Belsnickel and Rupert start plotting….

Plotting mischief and mayhem, of wreaking havoc
On the intruders who live in their valley.
They regale in events of seasons past, when they scared cattle,
Carried away children, and spread fear throughout the countryside.

A favorite pastime of Belsnickel and Rupert is tossing dried leaves and moss.
Down the chimneys of the valley homesteads,
Causing flue fires that sometimes engulf the home.
And laugh as the intruders frantically try to save their belongings.

Belsnickel has also been known to feed wild onions to the dairy cows,
So their milk will taste of onions and will be unfit for use by the intruders.
But most of all, Belsnickel and Rupert await Christmas Eve.
When everyone is indoors, reveling in the merriment of the season.

That is when Belsnickel becomes most embittered for being disturbed.
He loves the Winter Solstice, but can’t even bay at the moon,
Without the intruders hunting him with their ferocious hounds.
Belsnickel reckons that if he can’t celebrate, neither will they.

Late in the night, he and Rupert go from house to house,
Prying open the windows and breaking down doors.
Seeking vengeance they will yank children from their slumber,
And beat them with switches. Rupert hopes to toss a few in his sack, as well.

At these thoughts, pure joy shows on the face of Belsnickel and Rupert,
Primitive chuckles erupt from Ruperts snaggled mouth.
They are both anxious for night to fall,
And to begin their night of havoc.

Hours later, the forest is again quiet and Belsnickel and Rupert,
Having returned to their lair, await morning.
Fulfilled with their accomplishments, they celebrate.
They are the protectors of the forest, and without them, all would be lost.

In the valley, the bewildered & fearful intruders tell their children,
“Der Belsnickel punishes you for being bad. Next year you must be better.”
Through the giant roots of the oak tree, Belsnickel glances at the moon,
And breaks into a sorrowful and celebratory howl.

The Ballad of Eugene Butcher

A few years ago, I remember hearing a true central West Virginia folksong about Eugene Butcher, a brakeman for the railroad. I got to thinking about it a few days ago, and decided to do a little research on it.

I believe our folk hero was born Eugene F. Butcher and that he was the son of Granville & Madura Butcher. Eugene was born in October of 1890 in the Salt Lick District of Braxton County, WV. He married Bessie Beatrice Butcher, daughter of J.N. and Margaret Butcher on July 21, 1909 in Weston, Lewis County, WV. Eugene’s father Granville went mostly by his initials G.S.M. Butcher, and he worked at the lumber company’s planing mill in Weston, so I’m sure Eugene grew up near the lumber industry and the mills, and that he was very capable at his job.

After the horrible accident that claimed Eugene Butcher’s life, there seems to have been several children (both boys and girls) born in that area of West Virginia that were named after Eugene Butcher. I found several instances of boys with the first and middle names of Eugene Butcher, and even several instances of girls with the first name of Eugenia or with their first and middle names being Eugenia Butcher. I even found one instance of a middle name of a girl being Eugene. The births of these children all fell within a 15 month window of Eugene’s death, so I’ve no doubt they were named in his honor.

Here is a link to a recorded version of “The Ballad of Eugene Butcher” that was performed by Georgie Carr of Gilmer County, WV in 1986. The recording comes from the Oral History Collection at Glenville State College in Glenville, WV.

Below I’ve transcribed the words to the Ballad and I’ve done my best to get them correct. I may be off a few words here or there, but I think it is complete.

The Ballad of Eugene Butcher

Eugene Butcher was a brakesman,
Toiling for the B & O,
While enlisted, 33 wrecked,
And threw him far below.

When his comrades found him later
He was fastened ‘neath the rod
“Release me, please,” he pleaded
And in prayer he turned to God.

“Lord, receive my soul in Heaven,
Give to me a home on high,
Where I’ll meet my own dear mother,
God, protect my wife and child.”

Yes, he had a wife and baby,
Toiling for them day by day.
And perhaps for him she is kneeling,
“God have mercy” hear her say.

Someone brings to her the message,
See her kiss her darling babe,
as she reads the fateful story,
“Killed last night on Hawkins Grade”.

In obedience to the engine,
O’er the icy rails he sped,
Twas the first of February,
And he was carried back home dead.

It was the first of February,
In the year of Nineteen and twelve,
It was in the town of Weston
that Eugene he did dwell.

To the home of Melvin Meadows,
he was taken that fatal night,
and there he lived eleven hours,
and as though asleep he died.

And we trust he entered Heaven,
Earnestly, he prayed while here
And we hope sometime to meet him
Up there with our Savior dear.

And it was his brother trainmen,
That greets him as he rushes by,
Though it may be our last greeting
‘til we meet again on high.

The Farmer's Old Wife

Recently I've been looking at folktales, rhymes and ballads from the Old Country where my people came from hundreds of years ago. "Over the Water" is the way my granny referred to the Old Country. I think I have connections to most countries of Europe: Germany, England, Scotland, Ireland, Sweden, France and I'm sure I'm leaving out some of them. For the most part, my people were weathly and from priminent families, but that has since went the way of the weasel in this country. I guess I descend from too many "Seventh Sons of the Seventh Son" to have inherited anything except a pride in my heritage and all of the old stories. Of course, to me, those are worth more than gold. Anyway, for some reason I've been in search of the old stories from over there, and I'm finding many variations of stories that I grew up with on a mountain in Pendleton County, WV. I'll be posting one's that I find of special interest over the next several months. I'll try not to bombard you with these stories, songs, etc, since I don't know how much you all find them of interest. If anyone out there knows of any good books of these stories, songs, ballads, etc, please let me know.

With that said, today I'm going to post an old "whistling song" from Sussex, England titled "The Farmer's Old Wife". It was called a whistling song because all the listeners were expected to whistle between every verse. I can just imagine how much joy this song must have brought to my people over the generations. I remember hearing this one growing up, although it was a slightly different version than this.

The Farmer's Old Wife.

There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,

[Chorus of whistlers.]

There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,
And he had a bad wife, as many knew well.

[Chorus of whistlers.]

Then Satan came to the old man at the plough, -
‘One of your family I must have now.

‘It is not your eldest son that I crave,
But it is your old wife, and she I will have.’

‘O, welcome! good Satan, with all my heart,
I hope you and she will never more part.’

Now Satan has got the old wife on his back,
And he lugged her along, like a pedlar’s pack.

He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate,
Says he, ‘Here! take in an old Sussex chap’s mate!’

O! then she did kick the young imps about, -
Says one to the other, ‘Let’s try turn her out.’

She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains,
She up with her pattens, and beat out their brains.

She knocked the old Satan against the wall, -
‘Let’s try turn her out, or she’ll murder us all!’

Now he’s bundled her up on his back amain,
And to her old husband he took her again.

‘I have been a tormenter the whole of my life,
But I ne’er was tormenter till I met with your wife.’

You Caint do Nuthin' 'bout the Weather

Whenever I think of the weather, I am reminded of an old joke I heard years ago about an old hill woman and her grandson, who was doing homework on the correct usage of prepositions. After doing his homework, the boy was expected to go out and hoe up the garden. Just as the pupil thought he had finally grasped the concept, he closed his book, but not wanting to go hoe the garden he looked at his grandmother and said, “I wisht it would rain cats and dogs.” Not knowing (or caring) about the grammatical rules for the uses of prepositions, she responded to her grandson, “Why would you call weather that you’ve got to come in out of up for?” Hearing this, the boy opened his textbook again in bewilderment. I don’t know why, but that has always stuck with me, and I still find it humorous.

I thought of this again today when I was planning a new post about forecasting the weather. I grew up with many ways to foretell the weather by watching the animals. My Grandmaw Mary always said to pay attention to the animals, they will tell you things. That is true enough.

We all know about the wooly worm, and I’m sure you’ve even heard about Granny Clampett’s weather beetle. Even I have included some other time honored folk methods to making an accurate weather forecast in a previous post. Laugh all you want but you’d probably be shocked at just how accurate some of these methods tend to be. Included below are a few of the lesser known folk methods of forecasting weather by watching animals.

When bears store food in autumn, it is going to be a bad winter.

The chattering of squirrels in midwinter indicates an early spring.

If beavers build their lodge’s higher than normal, it is going to be a bad & long winter.

If you see bear tracks in the first snow of the year, it will be a mild winter.

If a cat warms itself in the February sun, it will warm itself by a fire in March.

If there are a lot of herons in the fall, a cold winter is in store.

When woodpeckers leave an area, expect a severe winter. If you see a woodpecker pecking low on a tree trunk, it is a sign of warm weather.

If field birds flock together, it is a sign of a bad storm coming your way.

After the purple martins appear in the spring, no killing frost will occur.

The color of a deer foretells the winter, the darker the coat, the harder the winter.

If fish are seen congregating in deep water, that is a sign of a cold winter to come.

If you hear no birds singing or animals scurrying in the woods, it is a sure sign of a bad storm coming your way.

If there are very few squirrel dreys (nests made of leaves), it is a sign of a cold, hard winter to come.

I’m sure there are more and more of these folk methods of forecasting weather. Also, I’d say there vary from location to location. Do you know of any other ways animals can forecast the weather?

How's the Weather?

Folks, there’s a chill in the air today. This reminds me that it sure as heck is mid-September and fall is here and winter is just around the corner. I’d thought I’d devote this post to the many ways to determine the timing and severity of winter according to folklore. Here’s a list of the ways I can think of, do you know of any more?


• If the wooly worm is solid black, there will be an early fall, bad winter and late spring.

• If the hornets build nests high in the grass or in trees, there will be a lot of snow that winter.

• After you hear the first fall cricket, it will be 6 weeks until frost.


• If the bark on hickory trees is really thick, it will be a colder than normal winter, conversely, if the bark is thin, it will be a warm winter.

• If squirrels gather nuts after sundown in October, it will be a hard winter.


• If the deer are dark in color, it is an indication of a bad winter to come.

• If buzzards congregate, it is a sign of a change in the weather.


• The first three days of each new quarter will determine the weather for that quarter. For example, the first three days of January will indicate the weather for January, February and March. The first three days of April will determine the weather in April, May and June. The first three days of July will determine July, August and September, and the first three days of October determines the weather for October, November and December. A quarter starts on the first day of the month following a solstice.

• If ant hills are high in July, winter will be snowy.


• If the first week in August is uncommonly hot, the coming winter will be snowy and long.

• For every fog in August, there will be a snowfall in winter.

• If a cold August follows a hot July, it foretells a cold and dry winter.

• A lot of rain in October means a lot of wind in December.

• A warm October foretells a cold February.


• If the first frost hasn’t occurred before the full moon in October, then there won’t be a frost until the full moon in November.

• Flowers bloomin’ in late fall is a sure sign of a bad winter for all.

• A warm November means a bad December.

• Thunder in the fall foretells a cold Winter.

• If onion skins are thick and tough, Old Man Winter’s gonna be rough.

• A green Christmas means a white Easter.

• A hard winter is in the making if corn husks are thick and tight.

• Expect a cold winter if apple peelings are tougher than average.

• It will be an early winter if the birds migrate early.

• It will be an unusually cold winter if a squirrel’s tail is very bushy.

• Expect a long, hard winter if berries and nuts are plentiful.

• If the first snowfall lands on unfrozen ground, the winter will be mild.

• Snowfall won’t amount to anything until the rivers are running full.

• If wood smoke hovers near the ground, a bad storm is coming.

• If you see a ring around the moon, and it has stars inside the ring, that will tell you how many days until there is a big storm.

• March will borrow from April, and April will always collect its debt.

Tales of the Panther

On the farm there were always tales of the panther. You’d hear its screams in the late evening and night, but we learned to live with it.




The above photo appears courtesy of: www.qnet.com/~saddleup/mountainlion.htm

One time Mom and Granddad said they seen the panther leaping through one of the meadows, and they said it was coal black. They said they were in the truck when they saw it, and when they stopped the truck it would stop, and when they would move a little bit, it would move a little. Other people who had seen it said the panther was brown like a paper poke. I’m thinking there was probably more than one of them.

Below is a photo of the farm, where they saw the panther leaping through the field.




The panther could make itself sound like any animal in the woods, it could also scream like a woman in pain, whimper like a baby or slap its tail and make a sound like somebody stacking lumber.

It seemed that panther sightings and the frequency of hearing its mournful screams seemed to increase when a baby was around. My Great-Granny always said that a panther was drawn to a baby’s crying. She told of how when she was little and her family lived at Fiddlers Green, one time when her brother Vern was a baby they saw the big paw of a cat reaching through the logs towards the baby’s crib and it was trying to snatch uncle Vern out of his crib. Granny said that her daddy took off after it with a garden hoe and would no doubt have killed it too if he got ahold of it, but that the panther got away. Granny’s daddy was a very strong man, people still tell stories of my great-great-granddaddy Alfred and how he stopped a charging bull by hitting it in the head with his fist and knocking it out.

Below is a photo of Fiddlers Green, the house my great granny grew up in.




Now that I think of the panther, I remember another story that involved Rob Bennett. This happened when Rob was walking down the lane one night at about 10 O'clock, he was returning home from visiting neighbors. He said that right about where the old cemetery is, he started hearing the loose rocks in the road scuffling around and a light growling noise a few yards behind him. He said he turned around but didn’t see anything because it was a pitch-black night. He said he then started walking again and heard the sound again, and again when he turned back to look, he seen nothing. He said he knew then and there that he was being followed by the panther. He said he just started walking toward home and started singing and waving his arms to make himself look bigger than he really was, he knew better than to run because even as a child, you are taught not to run when being followed by a panther. The old saying went, “When you walk, he walks; when you run, he runs”. Rob said when he got near his house he hollered out to his brother who lived with him to come out with the lantern. He did and Rob walked on into the house but the panther stayed at the edge of the ring of light put off by the lantern. Rob then said that when they looked out at the side window into the yard, there sat the panther a-lookin’ in at them through the window. Rob didn’t have nothing but an old smooth-bore shotgun that would probably have pissed off the old panther more than anything if they tried to shoot it, so they went upstairs and locked the stairs door in case the panther was to break in on them by coming through the window. Such tales as this were pretty common on the mountain.

Every so often on the farm we’d find the carcass of a cow or a sheep that had been an obvious victim of the panther. We all just made sure we didn’t go out of a night unless we had to, although we now know that what is out there in the night is also out there in the daytime.



Above: The Burns Brood

Of course, looking back now I’d pity the panther who tried to take on a Burns kid, we were all twice as mean, three times as wiry and had ten times the grit of any ole panther. It would have been a sorry day for the old panther.

Old House in the Woods

Last weekend, while in for the 4th of July, a few of the family went berry picking in an area we called the flats. To tell you how flat it is, you have to walk down into this place, and back up out of this place, it is far from flat, but when compared to the surrounding hillsides, it is the flattest part of the land.

While walking down an old country road with huge oak tree's and berry briers that surrounded to road on both sides, we decided to go on down where the old house used to stand. As we walked among the ancient oaks, I marvelled at their size and beauty, and wondered how they had survived getting timbered back in the early 1900's when much of Pendleton County was cut over. You can't tell it from the below photo, but these tree's are so large that it'd take at least a half-dozen men to reach around them.

After going through what appeared to be an old forest remnant, the woods opened up into meadows interspersed with a few trees. On one side you had a dark and foreboding looking cedar grove, and the other is wide open fields. In between these two extreme's sits what is left of an old house.

This old house used to have the most beautiful old-timey rose bushes around it, there were pink ones, red ones, yellow ones and white ones. They smelled so good when they were all blooming. I remember that we used to make a trip down to this old house every year when the roses were blooming.

There used to be a hand pump on the porch of this old house when I was little, and we'd all pump it until water flowed from the earth, it was a sight to see for us. We lived further up on the mountain and the water table was down too far for us to use hand pumps where we lived. Part of the old pump is still there today although it doesn't work anymore.

Over the door of this little cottage hangs an open end up horseshoe, reputed to ward off evil spirits, and since it hangs open end up, prosperity would collect at this house. These superstitions are remnants of our German heritage brought over by our ancestors who settled Germany Valley in the early 1700's. We still have many of the old customs, but we've lost even more. It makes me sad to think of how culturally disadvantaged my children will be not to hear these stories and see the things that I've seen in my lifetime. I'll try my best to tell them what I know but I've forgotten alot of it. Then on the heels of these melancholic thoughts is the realization that my parents and grandparents must have felt the same way as I do now when they thought of these very things. Life is definately a circle, I just wish now that I had realized that earlier in life and really listened to my granny and granddaddy when they told me stuff. Live and learn they always said, and a bought lesson ain't soon forgot.

Out from the little cottage is what I take to be the old shed, probably it housed the chickens and such. It is in a bad state of disrepair now but still would be the envy of any modern country garden. The wildflowers grow around it now as they must have 100 years ago. That's makes me think of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, which among other things says,

"To everything there is a season,

a time for every purpose under the sun.

A time to be born and a time to die;"

That put's in all in perspective doesn't it?

Below is the old shed that I was talking about.

It was good to be out in nature again and to see places that I hadn't seen in a few years. It was good to reminisce about times past and to spend a few precious moments with my family. It was good to be home!

I look forward to the time when I can do that again.