Author Archives: sophiaba

Headache Remedy

Nationality: American
Age: 18
Residence: Saint Louis, MO
Performance Date: April 25, 2016
Primary Language: English

Informant-Zoe Virant: 18 years old. From Saint Louis, Missouri. Her mother used to use this remedy on her when she was a child. It was passed down to her by her grandmother and was common in their household. Interview was conducted in person.

 

Folk Medicine: “When I was growing up I used to get really bad headaches. My mom didn’t like that I had to take so much advil and she said she had similar headaches when she was growing up. So whenever I got one, she would give me hot tea with lemon and then take lavender from our garden, crush it up with coconut oil and apply it to my temples. I would fall asleep and when I woke up my headache was gone. She never bought lavender oil because its not what her mother did with her, she did everything the exact same way. I don’t know, it made it feel kind of special in a way. Maybe it was my mothers touch, but I really think it helped.”

 

Thoughts: I have heard of using lavender oil to cure headaches but never fresh lavender mixed with coconut oil. I love that it was passed down from her grandmother and there was no alterations even though its so easy to buy lavender oil. Lemon water is commonly used to cure a sore throat or cold and is a folk remedy that is used often and my mother gave it to me when I was sick as a child to make me feel better. Zoe told me this folklore when I got a headache one day and I thought it was worth noting.

House of Blue Lights

Nationality: American
Age: 50
Residence: Chicago, IL
Primary Language: English

Informant- Catherine Calhoun: Mother, from Indianapolis, Indiana. 50 years old. She learned this piece originally from her mother and always thought it was a great myth that really stuck with her and is generally known around Indianappolis. Was conducted via phone interview.

Myth: The House of Blue Lights

            “When I was growing up, all the kids in the neighborhood knew about the house of blue lights. It got this name because it was decorated with blue lights all year round, making it look eerie at night. When I was a kid we always used to drive past the house and it was a really big deal. I used to make my parents go out of their way just so I could see the house. The story I heard was the the man who lived there was very rich, and when his wife died he kept her body inside the house. He put up the blue lights right after she died and they never seemed to go out. Apparently the wife would walk around the property and I knew people who claimed to see her in the blue lights when they went late at night. She gained the name the Lady in Blue from these sighting. We used to dare each other to walk up to the house and one time my friend even claimed she saw a woman in the window. After that we never went back but kids still would notoriously go there and play to seem cool because they wanted people to know they were not scared of the Lady in Blue. By the time I left Indianapolis the house was destroyed and I am not sure what is there now but it would be interesting to go back and see.”

 

Thoughts: I had never heard this story before my mother told me. I did some research and discovered that the house was owned by a wealthy man and after he died it was destroyed and given to the state. It is now a nature park. I have been to Indianapolis multiple times and have never been to the nature park that was one the House of the Lady in Blue. It would be interesting to see it now after hearing the myth.

Proverb

Nationality: American
Age: 50
Residence: Chicago, IL
Primary Language: English

Informant-Catherine Calhoun: My mother, 50-year-old woman from Indianapolis, Indiana. She heard this piece from her mother always as a child and passed it down later to me because she thought it was such an important saying. Was conducted via phone interview.

 

Proverb: If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all!

 

History: Some say that the quote comes from “If you can’t say something good about someone, sit right here by me” this was said by Dorothy Parker but some credit it to Alice Roosevelt Longworth who was Teddy Roosevelt’s daughter. The quote was apparently embroidered on one of Alice’s pillows that was described during an interview in 1965.

“Quote Investigator.” Quote Investigator. N.p., 9 Aug. 2014. Web. 27 Apr.

  1. <http://quoteinvestigator.com/2014/08/09/sit-by-me/>.

 

Thoughts: This is a proverb my mother was told as a young child by her mother who often found her up to no good with her older brothers and sisters. This proverb was later repeated to me as I grew up by my mother whenever I would say a curse word or something that was not nice. It taught me to think before I spoke, just as it taught my mother and her siblings. I grew up hearing this from both of my parents so it makes sense that my mother was often told this as a child. This proverb is very common among children as many of my friends were often told this. It means a lot to my family just because of how often it was repeated and I still remember it to this day. Though no one knows for sure where it came from, I had never head that it came from Alice Roosevelt but was in another form, which is very interesting.

Ball Family Legend

Nationality: American
Age: 50
Residence: Chicago, IL
Performance Date: April 20, 2016
Primary Language: English

Informant-Wesley Ball: This piece of legend has been passed down through the Ball family for generations. It tells of our heritage and the possibility of a late relative of ours. My father heard it from his grandfather and it is an important story to our family. Wesley Ball is a 50-year-old male from Marion Indiana. Conducted via phone interview.

“It has been said that our family is a descendent of the great president George Washington. But we can not for sure because only one Ball family in the United States is related to him, the catch is no one knows who. George Washington’s great-grandfather was William Ball and our family believes that we are the true Ball family decedents. My great aunt made a family tree and said that she traced it all the way back to William Ball, proving our family to be the Ball family from the legend. Mary Ball Washington is possibly the most famous Ball family member because she was the mother of George Washington himself. Our family believes that we are the true Ball family decedents, but it can only truly be proven with a blood test. Still to this day we claim to be related to George Washington.”

Historic overview of the Ball legend can be found here:

“Ball Family.” George Washington’s Mount Vernon. N.p., n.d. Web. 27

Apr. 2016. <http://www.mountvernon.org/digital-encyclopedia/article/ball-family/>.

Thoughts: I was raised hearing this legend from my father and often told people at school I was related to George Washington, especially when I was younger, I still like to believe that I am one of his descendants but I can not know for certain.

 

The Man from Snowy River

Nationality: American and Australian
Age: 19
Residence: Chicago, IL
Primary Language: English

Informant: Kendal, whose family is from Australia. She goes to USC and is a good friend of mine and I collected this during an interview with her.

Folk poem: The Man from Snowy River 

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses—he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up—
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony—three parts thoroughbred at least—
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry—just the sort that won’t say die—
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, “That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop—lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.”
So he waited sad and wistful—only Clancy stood his friend—
“I think we ought to let him come,” he said;
“I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

“He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.”

So he went—they found the horses by the big mimosa clump—
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, “Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.”

So Clancy rode to wheel them—he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stockhorse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, “We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.”

When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat—
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around The Overflow the reed beds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

“This is a poem that I grew up hearing from my relatives from Australia. They used to say it to us before bedtime because its kind of like a story and we all loved hearing it. When I grew up I discovered that it was more significant to Australian culture than I had thought. Many different places in Australis claim to know the original inspiration for the character in the poem. Also the poem was written when Australia was becoming an independent nation so its very patriotic and shows a lot of Australian pride. I think the poem is even on some part of the Australian dollar or another type of currency. Also snowy river is a real place that I have been to except its barely a river at all because there is so little water”

Thoughts: I found this poem very interesting and Kendal seemed to associate it with a lot of found memories she has from her time spent in Australia. Kendal’s mother continues to tell the folklore in America to keep alive some of the stories and poems she grew up with which I think is amazing and really important to maintaining their heritage.