When I read the theme for this week’s weekly geek — to ask people to talk about other forms of story-telling. — the first thing that came to mind was a literal interpretation: people who make their living going around telling stories. I’ve always thought life was richer for having stories in it, in the form of books but it’s different, something… more… when someone tells you a story.

My dad was a storyteller. He doesn’t think of himself in that way, but now that I look back on it, he was always telling us stories (he even had a storyteller stance, a way of putting his body that clued us in on the fact that a story was about to begin). From there, I developed an interest once upon a time in oral histories (I thought once about getting an MA in folklore…); I became fascinated by the stories people tell, by the things people remember about their past. And while storytelling isn’t always about people’s histories, it shares some elements with them: the personal way that storytellers own the story, the way even the tallest of tall tales sound like it really, actually did happen. I also like that there’s performance elements; it’s like a play on a more intimate scale. I’m always impressed with the people who choose to get up , by themselves, in front of a (not always captive) audience to tell them something simple: a story.

One of my first experiences with professional storytelling was at the Maryland Storytelling Festival; we only went once, and it was hot on the heels of my folklore fascination. But I do remember being totally enthralled by the different stories and storytellers. I thought, at the time, that I’d go to the festival every year, even toying with the idea of becoming a storyteller myself (I toy with lots of ideas…). But, then I had kids and that just didn’t happen.

Then, several years ago, a family member sent us about five Jim Weiss CDs for Christmas. I’d let my interest wane, and hadn’t even thought of introducing my children to the art of storytelling. However, when we got these CDs, they were just as captivated, and they soon became some of our favorites, especially for travel. Weiss has a way with words, with inflection and with flow that makes each story come alive. I also love them because they’re enjoyed by everyone; Hubby and I love Weiss’s interpretations of familiar stories, and the girls love hearing them, not only for the first time, but over and over again. (And when we come across the same stories in print, they’re excited because they already know the story!) We’ve expanded our original CD collection and are always looking for more.

I couldn’t do this without recommending some book. In this case, it’s The Beggar King and the Secret of Happiness, by Joel ben Izzy. I loved this book. It’s Izzy’s story about the time when he lost his voice and couldn’t tell stories anymore. I loved the stories he told, I loved the way he told his own story, and I loved the journey he took. Highly recommended.

So, how do I get my storytelling fix these days? Aside from the occasional Jim Weiss CD, there are thankfully several local storytellers that the library hires for their summer reading program. I can’t remember their names, but there were a couple last year who just captivated me, not to mention entertaining my girls. I also count our annual trek to the local Renaissance Faire — I feel like the fairs are storytelling in action: they are filled with people who dress up; who revel in the costumes or weapons or art; who are taking the time to tell the story of the past (Someday, I’ll even have my own outfit.) And, of course, I read out loud to my children. I enjoy creating the voices, putting in the emotion, in a sense creating a storytelling performance for an audience of one. (Honestly, that’s about my speed.)

Even if I never get up on a stage to tell stories, I’m glad there are people who do. If only because I love hearing them.

After I put up the other post, I thought to myself that I should have probably explained a bit. But, by the time I got out of the shower and back to the computer, people had already commented, so I figured I’d just leave it the way it was. But then, Julie (well, I’m assuming it’s you, Julie) asked for more information in the comments, and that gave me the push I needed to write the explanation I should have written in the first place.

So. How we came about our decision to (try to) buy local:

1. Back in 2001, Michael Pollan wrote an article for the New York Times magazine about how corn was taking over the world. Or, more specifically, corn syrup. I was impressed with the article, and as a result started looking at labels on the food I was buying. I was shocked (I shouldn’t have been): corn syrup really WAS in EVERYTHING (still is). I changed some of our buying habits then; most notably, I started making my own bread. Still do. Every week, three loaves from scratch. I worried that my girls would reject it (after all, we’d been eating store bought and homemade isn’t nearly as “nice” as store bought) but they took to it. A and K haven’t ever eaten store bought bread. And honestly, I think it tastes like sawdust. (And people are always impressed that I make my own bread, but honestly, it takes like a half hour and then 2 1/2 hours of waiting and baking. Not hard at all.)

I put Omnivore’s Dilemma here, even though I didn’t actually read it until earlier this year because that original article ended up being a couple chapters in the book.

2. Fast forward to 2005. We’d lived in Arkansas for three years, and while I tried to keep corn syrup out of my diet (hard!), we didn’t do much else. Arkansas is, of course, Wal-Mart land, and that’s where we shopped. We didn’t have much choice: there was only one other grocery store in town, and we were on such a tight budget that Wal-Mart is pretty much what we could afford.

That year, Hubby got a job at Western Illinois University, and the book for the first-year experience was Fast Food Nation. I remember him reading it the summer before we moved (I’ve never gotten around to it, though Hubby says I really should someday); he read portions out loud, and we talked about it a lot. And I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve walked into a McDonald’s in three years. (I’ve eaten very rarely at Wendy’s and Subway, but that’s it. Truly. And since we’ve moved here our fast food of choice is Jason’s Deli. Organic, and fairly local.) Again, I thought our kids would rebel (one of the main sticking points people tell me when I give them this lecture), but they haven’t. And (again) A and K have never eaten there, so they don’t miss it.

Also, when we moved to Illinois, we discovered that there was a farmer’s market and started utilizing it. Oh, we’d gone to farmer’s markets before, but it was mostly a Saturday morning lark sort of thing, not some place to buy your food. But, in Illinois, we were blessed to find a local farmer who had chickens, pigs and cows. We started buying fresh meat and eggs, and were blown away with the difference. Honestly, I’ll never buy store-bought bacon again. There is no comparison.

3. Rod Dreher, in this book, sets out to convince die-hard Republicans that their big business, big home, two-income lifestyle is not conservative. It grated on me in some parts, and felt like he was a bit self-righteous, but it did two things for me: it gave me the confidence to actually try to opt out of the big agriculture system and it let me know I wasn’t alone in doing so. (I probably knew that already, but sometimes that little reinforcement is what you need to keep going.)

We moved to Wichita the summer I read this, found another farmer (several actually) to get our eggs and meat from. (all my meat is “local”, meaning within 100 miles of my house. They come to the farmer’s market each Saturday and Hubby usually goes and picks up what we need there. We’re also blessed in that one of the farmers comes out bi-weekly all winter, so we can continue to have farm eggs and meat then, too. Though we’re considering going in with some families to buy half a cow this winter.) We also planted a garden (last summer and this summer) with the goal of growing and canning much of what we use during the winter.

A side note: growing up we canned fruit and jam. Again, I’ve been blessed/spoiled: I can’t eat store-bought canned peaches; they taste horrible. So, every summer, I pick local strawberries (off on Monday to do that) to can jam (won’t buy them: my kids need to work for their jam, and it just tastes better); peaches to jar; apples for applesauce; blackberries and raspberries for jam; and tomatoes for salsa and jarred tomatoes. (We’re hoping that we can get tomatoes, corn, zucchini, peppers, pumpkins and cantaloupe out of our garden this year. Wish us luck.) I also have an herb garden, where I grow all the herbs we use (except for a few exotic ones) and then dry/freeze them for the winter. All this is a big part in our buying local effort.

4. Honestly, Wendell Berry didn’t do much for our journey toward buying local food, but I do think he’s an important person to read. He’s a very influential persona in the local movement, and for good reason. He’s a big local booster, someone for whom working on and with the land is an important part of life. He’s a difficult person to read — very labor intensive — but, worth it in the long run, if only to give you an ideal to work toward. (Not that we can all live on a self-supporting farm in Kentucky.) Of the two, I’d suggest Sex, Economy, Freedom and Community: it’s slightly more accessible to read, though The Art of the Commonplace has some beautiful moments.

That’s pretty much our journey. We’re not perfect at it. I still feel like we buy too much food that’s supplied by big agriculture. I haven’t made the leap off of breakfast cereals, or even chicken nuggets (though I tried after reading Omnivore’s Dilemma) as lunch food for my girls. It’s about making small changes, though. Which is why I chose these two books… I do need to get around to reading the Barbara Kingsolver one, if only to get more ideas about how to go about buying and eating local food. I do know some things, though: growing a garden, knowing where your meat comes from, buying at a farmer’s market are all important.

I don’t know what we’d have done if we were still living in Arkansas, or somewhere else where there just aren’t the resources — especially with the meat — to do this. But I do know that it would still be worth the effort to try.

Or… how we came about our decision to (try to) buy local food.

The topic: Choose a political or social issue that matters to you. Find several books addressing that issue; they don’t have to books you’ve read, just books you might like to read. Using images (of the book covers or whatever you feel illustrates your topic) present these books in your blog.

And explanation of why I chose these books can be found here.

This week’s Weekly Geek is a tale of fond memories of childhood books. Or rather, fond memories of books during childhood? Or perhaps it’s both.

Having been Cursed with a Bad Memory, it’s not surprising that I don’t really have many fond memories of books during my childhood; in fact, I have exactly two. I know I read; family legend has it that in a reading “contest” during fourth grade (duration unknown), I read the second highest number of pages in my class (number unknown), coming in second only to my best friends. But, what did I read?

Instead of listing the books that I do remember, or rather remembered that I read when re-reading, I’m going to tell the stories of the two series that I do remember reading.

The first book obsession was with the Little House on the Prairie series. I read them the summer between 2nd and 3rd grade (I think), and became totally obsessed with them. (My brother hates it when I tell this story; you’ll see why soon.) I decided that I was Laura (I have since realized that there are two kinds of readers: those that insert themselves in the story, and those that want to be the main character. I was the latter.), and that I lived in the 19th-century west. I wore skirts and sunbonnets, made everyone call me Laura, called my parents “Ma” and “Pa”, and dressed my younger brother up in skirts and sunbonnets and made him be Mary. (For the record, he was 5, and pretty game to play along.) We had all sorts of Laura- and Mary-ish adventures, climbing things, stalking things, picking things…. I don’t remember how many times I read and re-read the books, but I do remember that it was one of the best summers.

The second was the Nancy Drew mysteries. I was a bit older when I found these, and so I didn’t dress up and pretend, but instead spent hours daydreaming that I was as witty and together and pretty as Nancy was. (Down to the boyfriend, Ned; oh, how I wanted a boyfriend like Ned.) I admired her pluck (yes, that’s the best word) and gumption (it’s so 50s, I know), and drive. I wasn’t a terribly outgoing person (I think at this time, I spent recess with my best friend pretending we were horses… or something like that), and when I read these books, I was suddenly not only confident, but popular and witty. I probably went snooping around (a habit left over from reading Harriet the Spy) looking for mysteries to solve, pretending that I was a great detective. I loved the thrill of reading the mysteries, something that lasted for quite a while: by the time I was in 6th grade, I had graduated to Agatha Christie, systematically reading through all her books.

But that’s another story.