Here are two of the stories I collected while being resident storyteller at the Morrison in Whitefield. Sometimes the simplest story is also the most memorable.
Roosters Belong in the Hen House
When I was a child we had a rooster for a pet. One day we took him in the house. He jumped on the table. Mother said: “We don’t need that rooster’s foot in our butter!”
--Glenna
How I Learned to Play the Harmonica
My father played accordion and harmonica. I wanted to play harmonica, too. There were eight of us children, so he hid his harmonica from us. But I watched where he hid it and when he was gone I took it. The others squealed on me!
So I watched again where he hid it. This time when I took it, I climbed the highest tree I could see. From the top I could see if any of my brothers and sisters were coming around. I watched out for them and played the harmonica. The tree swayed. But that’s how I learned the harmonica, in the top of a tall tree.
-- Beatrice Hobbs
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