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Featuring: Celtic harp Titles: Our Newest Our Other
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STORIES Page Contents: The Story of St. Patrick (text below) is already available with revised text (and photos of Ireland) and audio recording as one of our email audio greeting cards. The Little Red Hat (text below) is also available as part of our St. Pat's Day Special broadcast that we produced for N.P.R. Radio. We invite you to listen at http://www.collectingconsort.com/live_broadcast_3_98.htm Blest Be The Tie That Binds (text below) listen to Collecting Consort audio recording of this melody. Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair (The Story of Stephen Foster) Johnny Appleseed NEW (text below) is already available with revised text (and photos of Ireland) and audio recording as one of our email audio greeting cards The following stories have been written and are copyrighted by the Collecting Consort. They have been or will be utilized in THE SPIRIT WITHIN email greeting cards. These stories have also been carried by both commercial and public radio stations throughout the United States. If you wish to use these stories for anything other than research and your own personal interest, please contact us first for permission.
A beautiful spring morning opened as the sun broke through the dreary damp clouds which had covered the harbor in Wales for so many days. It was the beginning of the 5th century, and much of the British Isles was occupied and ruled by the Romans. 16 year old Maewyn was the son of Calphurnius, a high Roman official in Wales. Their family lived a rich and noble life. Maewyn had little responsibility and spent most of his time watching the boats and sailors from many lands as they came and went from the harbor.
This morning, he was taking in the warmth of the sun, lying on the hill high above the harbor. His mind was engrossed by the freedom of birds as they explored the currents of air along the cliffs, and the essence of spring was present in the beautiful smell of the delicate yellow flowers around him.
Maeywn's curiosity was drawn to a fleet of small ships sailing through the narrows and dropping anchor in the harbor. But something seemed unusual and wrong. He realized the ships were not friendly. Fearing for his family, he ran down the hill toward their home as the warriors began looting and burning the town. Even with the energy and strength of a sixteen year old, he was no match for the invaders, and he soon found himself bound with course ropes and thrown into the bottom of a boat. The speech of his kidnappers told him he was a captive of warriors from Ireland. After a few hours in the hold with the sea tossing him about, he was brought on deck to discover a strange land. Instead of recognizing beautiful buildings and homes with paved streets and people with his religious beliefs, he found the gloom of mud huts and a primitive people dressed in dirty animal skins and worshiping Pagan deities.
Because of his age and strength, Maewyn was sold to a king in Northern Ireland. His next six years were spent wearing a sheepskin tunic with a shaved head, the marks of a shepherd slave. Lacking the comforts and pleasures of his home in Wales, Maewyn's new existence was an important next step for his future.
He was forced to live a life of isolation in the wild. He found himself becoming spiritually in tune with the wholeness of the earth, and he turned more and more to meditation and prayer to fill his lonely hours. After several years of this deprivation, he experienced a vision that told him he would escape on a boat. Walking 2 hundred miles to the south, he found a boat leaving for Wales. Homecoming was a unbelievable shock. Wales was in ruins, and there was no sign of the Roman culture in which he had been raised.
Then Maewyn had another vision, and he felt the people of Ireland calling him back to help them. To answer this call, he undertook 20 years of training studying the scriptures, administration skills, and construction techniques so he might return to Ireland as a Catholic bishop. Given the name of Patrick by the church, he would become the spiritual leader that turned the people of Ireland to a more peaceful and civilized life.
Given the name of Patrick by the church, he
would become the spiritual leader that turned the people of Ireland to a more
peaceful and civilized life. The Leprechaun's Red HatThe theme for this story came from
"Celtic Fairy Tales" collected by Joseph Jacobs. The original title was THE
FIELD OF BOULIANS, but since we were unable to find out what a boulian was, we let Jack
look for the pot of gold under a thorny bush rather than a boulian. Then we changed the
title to THE LITTLE RED HAT. Broadcast of this story was included in our 1998 National Public Radio program, THE SPIRIT WITHIN ST. PATRICK'S DAY SPECIAL FROM THE COLLECTING CONSORT. Listen to this broadcast at: http://www.collectingconsort.com/live_broadcast_3_98.htm
When all of a sudden, he heard the strangest tapping sound in the hedge nearby. And stealing along as quietly as the night, Tom moved on the tips of his toes to peer above the hedge to gain sight of this unknown sound. Now what did he see in the crook of that hedge, but a strange little bucket which would hold about a thimble of brew. And shortly after appeared the tiniest of men wearing a smile drawn within his beard, two sparkling blue eyes, a jaunty red cap, the greenest of coats, little blue pantaloons and many colored socks tucked into shoes with beautiful curved toes. He sat down on a three-legged stool at a little wooden bench and began crafting a very fine and beautiful shoe. Well, Tom had heard of Leprechauns, but he didn't believe in them. Well, at least until this moment. He had heard you must never allow your eyes to move from them or they will escape. So keeping his eyes caught on the little man, Tom drew closer and wished the Leprechaun a good day. But the little fellow failed to return his greeting. Disregarding the lack of response from the Leprechaun, Tom's curiosity led him to ask, "What's that in your bucket?" And the little man responded with one very resentful word, "Beer", and Tom again interrupted his work to find where he got it. When the Leprechaun said he himself had made it, Tom, with even more, brashness asked what it was made from. Now, the little man replied this time, with a small twinkle in his blue eyes, "It was made of heath". This set Tom to laughing so hard he fell to the ground almost loosing the little man from his eyes. Tom informed him, "Everyone knows you make beer from malt, not heath". Pulling Tom along even further, the Leprechaun told of when the Danes had been in Erin and taught the father of his father the secret of making beer from heath. Then the little man changed the course of conversation by implying Tom should talk care of his own affairs instead of interrupting those of others and reminded Tom of his father's upset should the cows escape and trample the oats and corn. Such advice almost caused Tom to turn and run away home when he again remembered not to take his eyes from the little man should he escape. Worried, the Leprechaun might leave, he quickly reached down and grabbed the little man within his hands, and at the same time, spilled the contents of the bucket all over the ground. Upset and angry with himself for he would now not be able to taste it, he suddenly found himself feeling very powerful and extremely greedy. With the wickedest of smiles, he threatened to kill the little leprechaun should he not give him all of his riches. The little man, being wise with age, told Jack to take him to a field a short ways off where upon they came to the thorniest of bushes and the Leprechaun told Jack to dig there for the pot of gold. Not having a shovel and knowing he would have to return home to find one, Jack lowered the Leprechaun to the ground and took the little man's hat placing it on the highest and thorniest of limbs for there were many other bushes present of the same type, and Jack did not want to risk being confused when he returned to dig his fortune. Jack made the Leprechaun swear not to touch the hat where upon the little man said, "How could I with it being so high up in such a thorny bush? The Leprechaun, realizing he was again free, departed wishing Tom good fortune with his treasure of gold. Tom ran home with great exhilaration to get the shovel, but when he returned, not one bush in the field held the little man's hat. Since it would not be of good sense to dig under every bush in the field, Jack sadly shouldered his shovel to return home perhaps a little wiser than before, but since then, many a rough word has been given by Jack whenever he thinks of the turn done to him by that Leprechaun. Blest Be The Tie That BindsGARY: This story goes clear back to 1776. John Fawcett had just married his wife, Mary, and they had been assigned to a very impoverished Baptist Church in Wainsgate, England. The word soon spread about the capacities of this couple, and a very prosperous Church in London asked them to come. The family, excited by the good fortune of their promotion, loaded the wagon with their possessions and began saying their "good-byes" to the parishioners. ANNE: Suddenly, Mary shocked the crowd by saying, "We just cannot break the ties of affection that bind us to you dear friends. John, I just can not bear to leave. I know not how to go!" GARY: John responded with the orders to unload the wagon, and the Faucett family remained in that poor parish in Wainsgate, England for the next 57 years. The following Sunday, John closed the service with his poem "Brotherly Love" which was eventually set to the Dennis tune by Hans G. Naegeli. Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love; The fellowship of kindred minds Is like to that above. Before our Father's throne We pour our ardent prayers; Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, Our comforts and our cares We share each other's woes, Each other's burdens bear, And often for each other flows The sympathizing tear. When we are called to part It gives us inward pain, But we shall still be joined in heart And hope to meet again
Fifth and sixth grades still remain as prominent memories in my past thanks to lady with the bun and the blue dress with the little white dots, Dear Ms Sill. While she didn't administer with the ruler, those stern eyes over the top of her half spectacles could inflict just as much pain. She was sure the reason I didn't learn my multiplication tables was because I just didn't try hard enough. The only time we could escape her wrath was at recess or each Tuesday morning when the pretty young music teacher came to the North Side Elementary School. She would lead us from our confinement down the hall to the auditorium and hand out the well used copies of "The Golden Book of Favorite Songs". The music of Steven Foster would often dominate those grade school experiences. He and his music attached us to the deep south. How interesting that outside of one river boat trip to New Orleans, he never ventured further south than his home in Pittsburgh. While his music gained him fame during his life time, he could not be described as a success. Inability to manage money and alcohol ruined his marriage and family, and he eventually died a lonely person in a New York hotel room. Some people feel "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair" was his wife, Janie. The publisher had apparently suggested the name change. Perhaps this is why the words and music have such a tremendous capacity to touch us with their emotional warmth.
Johnny Appleseed
There is in my mind, a wonderful memory of spring in the form of apple trees in blossom. Whistling and skipping down a lane is a loveable skinny and barefoot character with a bag of apple seeds, a hoe on his shoulder and a pot on his head for a hat. That image comes from my childhood experience with the Disney production of "Johnny Appleseed". He was one of the many Walt Disney characters that I came to love in my early years. It never occurred to me that he actually existed in the form of John Chapman and that he was in deed a very special and unusual person. I have worked many years as a counselor, and I see a similarity between John Chapman and some of the unique people I encountered in my work. Like Johnny Appleseed, they did not fit society's expectations. I suspect much of their potential has been lost because we expect them to be "normal". If placed in a time and an environment like John Chapman, what could they have accomplished and added to this world through their diversity? As the 1800's began, John Chapman entered his manhood with the impossible dream of taking the apple tree to the frontiers of the Midwest. He left Massachusetts alone, on foot, heading for the mountains of Pennsylvania. He soon found himself trapped in three feet of heavy wet snow. That set the tone for John's future. If offered a bed in a warm house, he would choose to sleep on the open ground or under a bark lean to. On occasion, he would use a horse or a canoe, but his usual mode of transportation was his bare feet which carried him across several hundred miles of Ohio every year as he visited and tended his many nurseries. Even, in his seventies, those bare feet still took him across Ohio to Fort Wayne Indiana, to plant his seedlings for the incoming settlers. While living an solitary existence, he still became involved in the lives of others when they needed assistance. He helped them to establish their homesteads and taught them survival skills. Stories tell of the Indian attacks, when he ran from home to home, gathering families and leading them to safety. In addition to being extremely intelligent, he was also a very spiritual person, and planted the seeds of his religious beliefs like his apple seeds. He always carried books describing his approach to God and left them with the settlers he assisted. He had a deep reverence for the land. Feeling he could not take life, his diet contained no meat, and he often existed on only berries and nuts. Perhaps each of us should look deeper into John Chapman's life. He showed us that all it takes to be effective in one's life is to have a dream and to work towards making it happen. How much better this world would be, if we took stock of each others' unique capacities and nurtured and cared for them the way Johnny Appleseed took care of his apple trees.
Father MarquetteThe following story will soon be released as an audio/text file as one of our email greeting cards. Sign up for our email news letter to be notified when it is released.
During the late 1600's, the French wanted to control the St. Lawrence River and the Great Lakes. In order to do this, they sent the Jesuit priests to convert the Native Americans to Christianity. These priests gained the confidence of the Indians by living with them and learning their language and customs. The conditions they experienced were unbearable. One priest said the ability to fast was a necessity for survival. Another wrote his superior apologizing for his poor hand writing as the Indians had left him with just one finger. Still other Jesuits were killed to get rid of the spirits associated with the small pox which the French had brought. In spite of these hardships, there were still more Jesuits wishing to come. One of these was Father Marquette. His mission at St. Ignace became the first settlement in Michigan, and he was immediately accepted by the Huron and Ottawas because of his willingness to adopt their ways.
Hearing of a great river, Father Marquette and the explorer Jolliet felt it might lead to the Pacific and China. So they journeyed down the Mississippi to the Arkansas River. Realizing it was going to empty into the Gulf of Mexico and fearing encounters with the Spanish who controlled that area, they returned to his mission in St. Ignace, having covered over 3000 miles in just four short months. That trip took its toll on Father Marquette's health. but having promised the Indians of Illinois prairie he would return, he again left St. Ignace for the area of the present day Chicago where he spent four long winter months in a primitive shelter. The following spring, his health failing even more, he ventured into central Illinois. He was received by several thousand Indians and Father Marquette was deeply moved by the affection they expressed to him. Knowing he was about to die, he began the trip back to St. Ignace, his home and mission. Lying in the bottom of the canoe, two companions paddled him up the western coast of Michigan to Ludington where he died and was buried. However, he met so much to the Native Americans, that two years later, a procession of thirty canoes took his remains back to St. Ignace where his spirit could rest amongst them. Thus, the end to a story of a thirty six year old man who in six years probably had more positive impact on the Native Americans and the exploration of the North American continent than any other. This man had sacrificed his life for the tremendous accomplishments associated with his beliefs. |
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