Great-Grandpa’s Civil War Thumb

In the middle of our conversation Daddy disappears into the next room. He returns with a pair of gloves from his grandfather’s old trunk.

He hands them to me. “You ever see these? They belonged to my Grandpa; your Great-Grandpa, Charles Whitfield Leckie.”

I hold them in my hands and study them carefully. I can tell they’ve been packed away for safekeeping. They exude that ‘old museum sort of smell.’ My hands carefully stroke the bulky wool that contains no more than three moth holes. The natty leather trim stitched around the top offers a clue that they are well worn.

My eyes follow the shapes of the fingers and thumbs. I notice the long fingers, but there’s something extremely odd about the thumbs. The left thumb seems unusually long in comparison to the right one.

I’m puzzled. “Daddy, why on earth is this thumb cut off? These gloves couldn’t have been made this way. What happened?”

“Well, I’m not sure how it all happened, but Grandpa was in the Civil War. I think he must have reloaded his gun. He had his thumb across the end of the barrel and somehow the gun went off accidentally and shot off his thumb. After that he had to alter the right thumb of his glove so it would fit.”

Time passes. Several years later my cousin hands me several pages of our family history. I read through it and notice an account that distinctively clarifies Grandpa’s painful accident. It explains what I believe actually happened to amend Daddy’s account.

This is what I found. ‘Sometime during the Civil War, Charles W. Leckie was sick while marching. He stopped and rested his hand over the end of his rifle when it discharged and blew off his thumb.’

Ugh, I begin to feel a bit queasy, but read on. ‘He returned home and lived the remainder of his life in Iredell County, approximately five miles northeast of Statesville. He lived to the ripe old age of 94.’ The account was scant. The Leckie side of my family were neither loquacious nor meticulous record keepers. Yet, for now, this discovery was enough to satisfy my curiosity about Great Grandpa’s peculiar wool gloves.

Just imagine- what stories might spring forth if an old pair of worn gloves, pulled from a family trunk, could discharge their secrets.

Parking Lot Mystery

Yesterday I visited the public library to read the latest issue of NC's Our

State Magazine and do some research. Before going inside the library, while parking my car it sounded like something hit the roof.

Looking around on the pavement near my car I saw many little green prickly-like yucky things. They reminded me of a green starfish, minus one of it’s spiny points. Tires had flattened a few. Others were all brown and mushy, resembling some tiny creature from the Black Lagoon.

After I stopped wrinkling my nose I noticed something all nice and shiny. It looked like a nut so I picked it up and examined it. I wondered, “Hummm, could this be a buckeye?”

When I returned home I began a Google search and in 15 to 20 minutes I found my answer. I had solved the mystery in the library parking lot! That shiny object was a brown edible chestnut. Those green yucky prickly-like things were pods cradling the chestnuts forming inside. When the pods turn brown they hold mature chestnuts. The edible chestnut can have one or more flat sides and on one end the nut comes to a point.

I smiled. Sometimes I’m too busy to pay attention to life around me. If only I can remember to be more aware of my surroundings, I can learn something new each and every day. Now…if I can just find a folktale to combine with this lesson.

Ocrafolk Festival

For several years I’ve had a yearning to attend the Ocrafolk Music and Storytelling Festival in Ocracoke, NC. Well, life kept getting in the way. So this spring my husband and I decided that we must take action and do something about it, despite other commitments. Otherwise we could grow old and wake up one day only to realize we never got there.

While I busily worked on a storytelling newsletter, my husband began making call after call, searching for reservations for the festival held in early June. He discovered that places were either booked or we must make a commitment for one week’s lodging going from Saturday to Saturday. This was absolutely impossible. Our plans were to arrive several days prior to the festival and stay through part of the following week and enjoy the quaint village of Ocracoke. After all, we hadn’t visited there for many years.

Finally, after more brainstorming we had the answer. We’ll stay somewhere close. Well - as close as you can by taking a ferry to Ocracoke and back each day. That left one area - Hatteras Island near Hatteras Village. After more calls, he found our place, which was only five minutes from the ferry dock. Whee! Now we were truly excited. To make a long story short we spent 12 fun days on and near the Outer Banks, including seven days at Ocracoke, before returning home. We attended most of the Ocrafolk Festival, which was thoroughly worth every moment we spent there.

Donald Davis who lives on Ocracoke and John Golden from Wilmington, NC were among the line-up of performers. Donald and Rodney Kemp, a historian and storyteller from Morehead City, were featured storytellers. Donald and Rodney’s performances were sandwiched between the musicians on Saturday, creating a pleasurable balance between music and storytelling. Donald performed stories on two separate stages during the day on Saturday. Of course we took in both performances. Several of his ‘growing up’ stories may be found in his newly published book, Tales from a Free-Range Childhood. Whether or not you’ve heard Donald enthrall a crowd with his stories, you would definitely enjoy reading his new book. We bought our copy while at the festival.

I realize how fortunate we southerners are to have so many festivals, including storytelling festivals around the state of North Carolina. I met five or six people during the Ocrafolk Festival who moved here from other states, particularly northern states. They told me they had never seen or heard storytelling until they moved to this state and heard about this festival. Most of them presently live in the eastern part of our fine state. Each professed to have fallen in love with storytelling and with the style of music performed during this festival.

A few of our favorite musical groups that performed were the Ocracoke Jazz Society (and I’m not the greatest jazz fan), Molasses Creek (from Ocracoke), the Steel Wheels (from Virginia), Beleza Brasil, and of course John Golden. Both John Golden and Donald Davis shared their musical talents during the day Sunday with the morning and afternoon Gospel Singing. The Ocrafolk Festival is definitely recommended if you have never been. The dates for 2012 are June 1-3rd. I warn you, make your reservations early. Check out the festival website at: http://www.ocrafolkfestival.org

Eclectic Author

May 13, 2009 began a three-day journey across the NC Mountains toward the Great Plains destination of Wall, South Dakota to visit my mother-in-law. I was pleased to find SD sprinkled with rolling green hills, spreading ranches with grazing cattle, and occasionally a wild animal or two. This state is sparsely populated with approximately 800,000 people. I’m pleased to say these fine folks were genuine and sincere as they welcomed travelers into their communities and towns. It was a wonderful place to be to get away from the crazy rat race back home and to find stories.

This blog will include one of the stories I gathered, so here goes.

My husband Jim, and I, accompanied by his mother, drove to a small town just 35 miles away from her home for lunch. While there I met a very interesting lady whom I shall call Donna.

Donna was very surprised and intrigued when I told her I was a freelance storyteller. Then she proceeded to tell me that she wrote a weekly article for her hometown newspaper. After listening to her conversation for a few minutes I realized that she too was a storyteller.

She told me about an eclectic author and storyteller that she knows who lives in Pennsylvania. It seems their way of crossing paths was quite extraordinary. Some years ago a book was written about Donna’s grandmother called Pioneer Woman, but unfortunately the book is out of print. The author is the lady from Pennsylvania. Each year she goes on an annual trek to help on an archaeological dig in southwestern South Dakota. While there she always tells the story of Donna’s grandmother, Pioneer Woman.

Donna told me that her family met this remarkable author/storyteller some years ago and got to know her. “Since that time we have grown very close to her.” I sensed that Donna regarded her as a member of her very own family. Donna saw her at last year’s ‘dig’ (Mammoth Hot Springs) and remarked, “We’ve been corresponding but I haven’t heard from her recently and I’m getting very concerned because she’s 88 years old. I’m going to see if I can get in touch with her by phone. I am so afraid that she won’t be able to come this year.

I didn’t get Donna’s email address so I don’t know if she has heard from her eclectic friend or not. But I returned home thinking, “Wow, what a wonderful story!” And I just happened to fall into it. So I urge you to keep your eyes and ears open and aware: stories are all around us.

For the Love of Story

Most storytellers that I know personally share their love of stories by sharing from their heart. Most of the storytellers I have met through the years shared their stories from the heart. Along the way I met a few who didn’t quite get it. Those few won’t go far. The audience can sense it when the teller isn’t reaching out to them – to meet them halfway.

When I share a story, it must come from somewhere within me, not just from the brain. It comes from deep down inside my heart and soul. If I select a folktale to share with my audience, I must search long and hard to find the right story that will touch me. If it doesn’t reach out to grab me, I certainly cannot share it with my audience because it isn’t a part of me. It isn’t a part of my heart and soul.

Recently I presented an Oral History program at the NC Outer Banks with a great group of eager listeners in the audience. It was a fun experience for all. By the way, it was an adult audience and I love opportunities to work with adults. Grownups become “children at heart” again when they are taken back in time with stories and memories. As a former children’s librarian I have presented programs to all age levels.

Next month I will be traveling near the Outer Banks to present several more programs. This time I will have the opportunity to speak to another adult audience as well as visit several groups of students. So my time is filling up with fine-tuning my upcoming programs to fit the right audience. It is very important for any public speaker or storyteller to know his or her audience.

Wildacres Fall Gathering

The Wildacres Conference Center, in Little Switzerland, NC is situated near the Blue Ridge Parkway. It sits atop the mountain; Pompey’s Knob, at 3300 feet elevation and is one of my favorite get-a-ways. While attending the Wildacres Fall Gathering at the end of October, I was greatly inspired by meeting and talking with various artists there– painters, potters, quilters, musicians, and writers, just to name a few. The mountain is constantly filled with lots of energy during this week. My goal was rewriting and learning several Appalachian legends for two upcoming programs I had booked. I also wrote a family story that was percolating in the back of my mind.

I can say that what I accomplished has certainly paid off in the past couple of weeks. These new stories were applied during several storytelling events. I anticipate that they will continue to be added to the list of my favorite stories to tell.

Winds blew in a big surprise the first evening and the next day at Wildacres – snow, beautiful snow. Brrrrh, but it was so cozy to sit before a huge glowing fire in the fireplace of the lodge. Though most of the snow blew further down the mountain, it was still snowing with a beautiful “dusting” on the ground, a delight to see the following morning.

Memories of Grandpa

I recently visited a man who lives in my hometown. We grew up on nearby farms. I could stand in my front yard and see his house. During this visit we were remembering old times when he told me a little story about my grandpa. As he told the story, it was as if I could see it happening.

After going to bed that night, I revisited his story.

So that you will understand the story more clearly, allow me to give a little more background. Grandpa was a retired farmer, still working on the farm. He had worked with animals all of his life, especially cows and horses. He was considered such an expert in his day that he was known as the local neighborhood veterinarian.

By the time I was born, he neither drove nor owned a car. There was a little country store exactly one mile from our house. This is where all the farmers gathered to talk about important matters and catch up on the neighborhood gossip. Grandpa usually walked to the store and back about once a day. (We always called it “The Store.”) When the day’s work was done, even more farmers tended to gather there after supper. So, often grandpa just had to go again to be sure he didn't miss anything. He’d have Daddy to take him.

Here’s where the rest of the story falls into place. Clint reminisced about the times that Grandpa would ride his horse to “The Store.” I had forgotten that he occasionally rode his horse, rather than walk.

He said, “I can remember your grandpa riding his horse, a sorrel (light reddish-brown), down to ‘The Store.’ When he got ready to go home, he came out the door where the horse was waiting. Your grandpa was probably close to 80 years old then. He'd walk over to the horse and tap him on the shoulder. The horse would kneel down beside him and wait patiently for him to get on. Then he’d get up and they’d head for home.”

I was totally blown by this little story. But - what else should I have expected from “the neighborhood veterinarian,” a man who knew all about horses!”

I have learned to keep my ears tuned in for stories. Anytime I hear little bits and pieces of a story, especially about older family members, I make a point to write them down. It’s added to my collection of story “quilt” pieces. I hope one day I will have just enough for a new story or two.