Today is World Storytelling Day!

9 comments on “Today is World Storytelling Day!”

1. […] Happy World Storytelling Day and this year’s subject is trees! This wonderful story crossed my desk today thanks to Lisa Bloom, the story coach so this little story republished with credit to Lisa for bringing it to … […]

   • thanks for the share!

2. Here is my tree story
   THE LITTLE ELDER-TREE MOTHER (traditional)
   THERE was once a little boy who had caught cold; he had
   gone out and got wet feet. Nobody had the least idea how it
   had happened; the weather was quite dry. His mother undressed
   him, put him to bed, and ordered the teapot to be brought in,
   that she might make him a good cup of tea from the elder-tree
   blossoms, which is so warming. At the same time, the
   kind-hearted old man who lived by himself in the upper storey
   of the house came in; he led a lonely life, for he had no wife
   and children; but he loved the children of others very much,
   and he could tell so many fairy tales and stories, that it was
   a pleasure to hear him.

   “Now, drink your tea,” said the mother; “perhaps you will
   hear a story.”

   “Yes, if I only knew a fresh one,” said the old man, and
   nodded smilingly. “But how did the little fellow get his wet
   feet?” he then asked.

   “That,” replied the mother, “nobody can understand.”

   “Will you tell me a story?” asked the boy.

   “Yes, if you can tell me as nearly as possible how deep is
   the gutter in the little street where you go to school.”

   “Just half as high as my top-boots,” replied the boy; “but
   then I must stand in the deepest holes.”

   “There, now we know where you got your wet feet,” said the
   old man. “I ought to tell you a story, but the worst of it is,
   I do not know any more.”

   “You can make one up,” said the little boy. “Mother says
   you can tell a fairy tale about anything you look at or
   touch.”

   “That is all very well, but such tales or stories are
   worth nothing! No, the right ones come by themselves and knock
   at my forehead saying: ‘Here I am.'”

   “Will not one knock soon?” asked the boy; and the mother
   smiled while she put elder-tree blossoms into the teapot and
   poured boiling water over them. “Pray, tell me a story.”

   “Yes, if stories came by themselves; they are so proud,
   they only come when they please.- But wait,” he said suddenly,
   “there is one. Look at the teapot; there is a story in it
   now.”

   And the little boy looked at the teapot; the lid rose up
   gradually, the elder-tree blossoms sprang forth one by one,
   fresh and white; long boughs came forth; even out of the spout
   they grew up in all directions, and formed a bush- nay, a
   large elder tree, which stretched its branches up to the bed
   and pushed the curtains aside; and there were so many blossoms
   and such a sweet fragrance! In the midst of the tree sat a
   kindly-looking old woman with a strange dress; it was as green
   as the leaves, and trimmed with large white blossoms, so that
   it was difficult to say whether it was real cloth, or the
   leaves and blossoms of the elder-tree.

   “What is this woman’s name?” asked the little boy.

   “Well, the Romans and Greeks used to call her a Dryad,”
   said the old man; “but we do not understand that. Out in the
   sailors’ quarter they give her a better name; there she is
   called elder-tree mother. Now, you must attentively listen to
   her and look at the beautiful elder-tree.

   “Just such a large tree, covered with flowers, stands out
   there; it grew in the corner of an humble little yard; under
   this tree sat two old people one afternoon in the beautiful
   sunshine. He was an old, old sailor, and she his old wife;
   they had already great-grandchildren, and were soon to
   celebrate their golden wedding, but they could not remember
   the date, and the elder-tree mother was sitting in the tree
   and looked as pleased as this one here. ‘I know very well when
   the golden wedding is to take place,’ she said; but they did
   not hear it- they were talking of bygone days.

   “‘Well, do you remember?’ said the old sailor, ‘when we
   were quite small and used to run about and play- it was in the
   very same yard where we now are- we used to put little
   branches into the ground and make a garden.’

   “‘Yes,’ said the old woman, ‘I remember it very well; we
   used to water the branches, and one of them, an elder-tree
   branch, took root, and grew and became the large tree under
   which we are now sitting as old people.’

   “‘Certainly, you are right,’ he said; ‘and in yonder
   corner stood a large water-tub; there I used to sail my boat,
   which I had cut out myself- it sailed so well; but soon I had
   to sail somewhere else.’

   “‘But first we went to school to learn something,’ she
   said, ‘and then we were confirmed; we both wept on that day,
   but in the afternoon we went out hand in hand, and ascended
   the high round tower and looked out into the wide world right
   over Copenhagen and the sea; then we walked to Fredericksburg,
   where the king and the queen were sailing about in their
   magnificent boat on the canals.’

   “‘But soon I had to sail about somewhere else, and for
   many years I was travelling about far away from home.’

   “‘And I often cried about you, for I was afraid lest you
   were drowned and lying at the bottom of the sea. Many a time I
   got up in the night and looked if the weathercock had turned;
   it turned often, but you did not return. I remember one day
   distinctly: the rain was pouring down in torrents; the
   dust-man had come to the house where I was in service; I went
   down with the dust-bin and stood for a moment in the doorway,
   and looked at the dreadful weather. Then the postman gave me a
   letter; it was from you. Heavens! how that letter had
   travelled about. I tore it open and read it; I cried and
   laughed at the same time, and was so happy! Therein was
   written that you were staying in the hot countries, where the
   coffee grows. These must be marvellous countries. You said a
   great deal about them, and I read all while the rain was
   pouring down and I was standing there with the dust-bin. Then
   suddenly some one put his arm round my waist-‘

   “‘Yes, and you gave him a hearty smack on the cheek,’ said
   the old man.

   “‘I did not know that it was you- you had come as quickly
   as your letter; and you looked so handsome, and so you do
   still. You had a large yellow silk handkerchief in your pocket
   and a shining hat on. You looked so well, and the weather in
   the street was horrible!’

   “‘Then we married,’ he said. ‘Do you remember how we got
   our first boy, and then Mary, Niels, Peter, John, and
   Christian?’

   ‘Oh yes; and now they have all grown up, and have become
   useful members of society, whom everybody cares for.’

   “‘And their children have had children again,’ said the
   old sailor. ‘Yes, these are children’s children, and they are
   strong and healthy. If I am not mistaken, our wedding took
   place at this season of the year.’

   “‘Yes, to-day is your golden wedding-day,’ said the little
   elder-tree mother, stretching her head down between the two
   old people, who thought that she was their neighbour who was
   nodding to them; they looked at each other and clasped hands.
   Soon afterwards the children and grandchildren came, for they
   knew very well that it was the golden wedding-day; they had
   already wished them joy and happiness in the morning, but the
   old people had forgotten it, although they remembered things
   so well that had passed many, many years ago. The elder-tree
   smelt strongly, and the setting sun illuminated the faces of
   the two old people, so that they looked quite rosy; the
   youngest of the grandchildren danced round them, and cried
   merrily that there would be a feast in the evening, for they
   were to have hot potatoes; and the elder mother nodded in the
   tree and cried ‘Hooray’ with the others.”

   “But that was no fairy tale,” said the little boy who had
   listened to it.

   “You will presently understand it,” said the old man who
   told the story. “Let us ask little elder-tree mother about
   it.”

   “That was no fairy tale,” said the little elder-tree
   mother; “but now it comes! Real life furnishes us with
   subjects for the most wonderful fairy tales; for otherwise my
   beautiful elder-bush could not have grown forth out of the
   teapot.”

   And then she took the little boy out of bed and placed him
   on her bosom; the elder branches, full of blossoms, closed
   over them; it was as if they sat in a thick leafy bower which
   flew with them through the air; it was beautiful beyond all
   description. The little elder-tree mother had suddenly become
   a charming young girl, but her dress was still of the same
   green material, covered with white blossoms, as the elder-tree
   mother had worn; she had a real elder blossom on her bosom,
   and a wreath of the same flowers was wound round her curly
   golden hair; her eyes were so large and so blue that it was
   wonderful to look at them. She and the boy kissed each other,
   and then they were of the same age and felt the same joys.
   They walked hand in hand out of the bower, and now stood at
   home in a beautiful flower garden. Near the green lawn the
   father’s walking-stick was tied to a post. There was life in
   this stick for the little ones, for as soon as they seated
   themselves upon it the polished knob turned into a neighing
   horse’s head, a long black mane was fluttering in the wind,
   and four strong slender legs grew out. The animal was fiery
   and spirited; they galloped round the lawn. “Hooray! now we
   shall ride far away, many miles!” said the boy; “we shall ride
   to the nobleman’s estate where we were last year.” And they
   rode round the lawn again, and the little girl, who, as we
   know, was no other than the little elder-tree mother,
   continually cried, “Now we are in the country! Do you see the
   farmhouse there, with the large baking stove, which projects
   like a gigantic egg out of the wall into the road? The
   elder-tree spreads its branches over it, and the cock struts
   about and scratches for the hens. Look how proud he is! Now we
   are near the church; it stands on a high hill, under the
   spreading oak trees; one of them is half dead! Now we are at
   the smithy, where the fire roars and the half-naked men beat
   with their hammers so that the sparks fly far and wide. Let’s
   be off to the beautiful farm!” And they passed by everything
   the little girl, who was sitting behind on the stick,
   described, and the boy saw it, and yet they only went round
   the lawn. Then they played in a side-walk, and marked out a
   little garden on the ground; she took elder-blossoms out of
   her hair and planted them, and they grew exactly like those
   the old people planted when they were children, as we have
   heard before. They walked about hand in hand, just as the old
   couple had done when they were little, but they did not go to
   the round tower nor to the Fredericksburg garden. No; the
   little girl seized the boy round the waist, and then they flew
   far into the country. It was spring and it became summer, it
   was autumn and it became winter, and thousands of pictures
   reflected themselves in the boy’s eyes and heart, and the
   little girl always sang again, “You will never forget that!”
   And during their whole flight the elder-tree smelt so sweetly;
   he noticed the roses and the fresh beeches, but the elder-tree
   smelt much stronger, for the flowers were fixed on the little
   girl’s bosom, against which the boy often rested his head
   during the flight.

   “It is beautiful here in spring,” said the little girl,
   and they were again in the green beechwood, where the thyme
   breathed forth sweet fragrance at their feet, and the pink
   anemones looked lovely in the green moss. “Oh! that it were
   always spring in the fragrant beechwood!”

   “Here it is splendid in summer!” she said, and they passed
   by old castles of the age of chivalry. The high walls and
   indented battlements were reflected in the water of the
   ditches, on which swans were swimming and peering into the old
   shady avenues. The corn waved in the field like a yellow sea.
   Red and yellow flowers grew in the ditches, wild hops and
   convolvuli in full bloom in the hedges. In the evening the
   moon rose, large and round, and the hayricks in the meadows
   smelt sweetly. “One can never forget it!”

   “Here it is beautiful in autumn!” said the little girl,
   and the atmosphere seemed twice as high and blue, while the
   wood shone with crimson, green, and gold. The hounds were
   running off, flocks of wild fowl flew screaming over the
   barrows, while the bramble bushes twined round the old stones.
   The dark-blue sea was covered with white-sailed ships, and in
   the barns sat old women, girls, and children picking hops into
   a large tub; the young ones sang songs, and the old people
   told fairy tales about goblins and sorcerers. It could not be
   more pleasant anywhere.

   “Here it’s agreeable in winter!” said the little girl, and
   all the trees were covered with hoar-frost, so that they
   looked like white coral. The snow creaked under one’s feet, as
   if one had new boots on. One shooting star after another
   traversed the sky. In the room the Christmas tree was lit, and
   there were song and merriment. In the peasant’s cottage the
   violin sounded, and games were played for apple quarters; even
   the poorest child said, “It is beautiful in winter!”

   And indeed it was beautiful! And the little girl showed
   everything to the boy, and the elder-tree continued to breathe
   forth sweet perfume, while the red flag with the white cross
   was streaming in the wind; it was the flag under which the old
   sailor had served. The boy became a youth; he was to go out
   into the wide world, far away to the countries where the
   coffee grows. But at parting the little girl took an
   elder-blossom from her breast and gave it to him as a
   keepsake. He placed it in his prayer-book, and when he opened
   it in distant lands it was always at the place where the
   flower of remembrance was lying; and the more he looked at it
   the fresher it became, so that he could almost smell the
   fragrance of the woods at home. He distinctly saw the little
   girl, with her bright blue eyes, peeping out from behind the
   petals, and heard her whispering, “Here it is beautiful in
   spring, in summer, in autumn, and in winter,” and hundreds of
   pictures passed through his mind.

   Thus many years rolled by. He had now become an old man,
   and was sitting, with his old wife, under an elder-tree in
   full bloom. They held each other by the hand exactly as the
   great-grandfather and the great-grandmother had done outside,
   and, like them, they talked about bygone days and of their
   golden wedding. The little girl with the blue eyes and
   elder-blossoms in her hair was sitting high up in the tree,
   and nodded to them, saying, “To-day is the golden wedding!”
   And then she took two flowers out of her wreath and kissed
   them. They glittered at first like silver, then like gold, and
   when she placed them on the heads of the old people each
   flower became a golden crown. There they both sat like a king
   and queen under the sweet-smelling tree, which looked exactly
   like an elder-tree, and he told his wife the story of the
   elder-tree mother as it had been told him when he was a little
   boy. They were both of opinion that the story contained many
   points like their own, and these similarities they liked best.

   “Yes, so it is,” said the little girl in the tree. “Some
   call me Little Elder-tree Mother; others a Dryad; but my real
   name is ‘Remembrance.’ It is I who sit in the tree which grows
   and grows. I can remember things and tell stories! But let’s
   see if you have still got your flower.”

   And the old man opened his prayer-book; the elder-blossom
   was still in it, and as fresh as if it had only just been put
   in. Remembrance nodded, and the two old people, with the
   golden crowns on their heads, sat in the glowing evening sun.
   They closed their eyes and- and-

   Well, now the story is ended! The little boy in bed did
   not know whether he had dreamt it or heard it told; the teapot
   stood on the table, but no elder-tree was growing out of it,
   and the old man who had told the story was on the point of
   leaving the room, and he did go out.

   “How beautiful it was!” said the little boy. “Mother, I
   have been to warm countries!”

   “I believe you,” said the mother; “if one takes two cups
   of hot elder-tea it is quite natural that one gets into warm
   countries!” And she covered him up well, so that he might not
   take cold. “You have slept soundly while I was arguing with
   the old man whether it was a story or a fairy tale!”

   “And what has become of the little elder-tree mother?”
   asked the boy.

   “She is in the teapot,” said the mother; “and there she
   may remain.”

   • What a beautiful story Catherine, a true gift – thankyou!

3. Such a beautiful story Lisa. Thank you for this gift. I read the story in the morning, upon completing an all night work session. It is a challenging month working a project overseas, requiring me to work from midnight to six in the morning.

   My body clock has been completely changed around. One of the great gifts of this project, is the chance to break ingrained old habits.

   My star shined particularly bright, in the middle of the night… to keep myself awake, I practice self inquiry. I was working on a one liner: I need to be encouraged. The most potent turnaround was “I need to encourage myself”… this filled me with such a deep sense of satisfaction.

   I felt like the luckiest woman on earth to be awake in the middle of the night, doing exactly what I am doing, thinking exactly what I am thinking…. all is right with the world – just as it is.

   These bright stars gave way to enjoying watching the dawn rise… then receiving the gift of your story. Thanks.

   • Thanks Eliana – what a lovely image of peace as the day breaks!

4. […] Happy World Storytelling Day and this year’s subject is trees! This wonderful story crossed my desk today thanks to Lisa Bloom, the story coach so this little story republished with credit to Lisa for bringing it to … […]

5. […] Lisa Bloom, recently posted this story on her blog (and I encourage you to check out her post at https://story-coach.com/world-storytelling-day/). I have heard her tell this story a few times, and it is one of my favorites. And so I want to […]

   • Thanks for the mention Lori! Best, Lisa

Comments are closed.