Welcome to a deeply moving episode of From Cork to New York. In this gathering of the storytelling circle, hosts Jim Brule and Maria are joined by special guest Hears Crow, a seasoned storyteller from the woodlands of Vermont who lives in the Eastern Woodlands Long House tradition of the Narragansett. Together, they weave a beautiful tapestry of grief, survival, and the enduring power of oral tradition to heal both the living and the ancestors.

Our Guest - Hears Crow

Nootauau Kaukontuoh, “she hears it from him, the crow,” is a Narragansett storyteller, educator, and poet. With over 35 years of experience, she shares Longhouse Tales and Native culture through oral traditions, workshops, and published works, including poetry and a forthcoming children's novel.

See a photo of Hears Crow at https://healingmonsters.community/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/Hears-Crow.jpg

The Stories Shared in This Episode

• "The Stone Canoe" – An Eastern Woodlands (Narragansett) legend told by Hears Crow.
• "The Sceál of the Butter Box Baby" – An Irish folklore-inspired tale of Samhain and ancestral love told by Maria.
• "Tarvaa, the Bard of Mongolia" – A traditional Mongolian oral legend told by Jim Brule.

The Hook

What happens when grief takes us to the very edge of the underworld? In this episode, our tellers explore how the ultimate remedy for deep loss is not solitary withdrawal, but an active return to community. Through the lens of a stone canoe, a hidden butter box on a misty Cork night, and a blind bard who chose storytelling over jewels, we discover how stories act as the ultimate "shawl:" draping over our shared wounds and carrying us home.

The Chapters

[00:00] Welcoming Hears Crow to the Circle

Jim and Maria welcome guest Hears Crow from her Vermont forest home. She shares her forty-year journey of native storytelling and introduces the rich Long House traditions of the Nanhiganeac (Narragansett) people.

[03:16] The Story of the Stone Canoe

Hears Crow shares a poignant legend of a young hunter who, devastated by the sudden death of his bride, travels south to the Land of Souls. To cross the great lake to paradise, he must shed his body and sail in a shimmering white stone canoe - only to learn from the Great Mystery (Cautantowwit) that his earthly work is not yet finished.

[19:45] Sitting in the Nourishment of Grief

The hosts and Hears Crow reflect on the beautiful, delicate dance with grief. They discuss how the young hunter’s pain could have swallowed him, but he found healing by returning to live a life of duty, service, and leadership for his people.

[24:25] The Ceo Draíochta and the Butter Box Baby Maria transports us to a misty, modern-day Halloween (Oíche Shamhna) in Cork. Skeptical young Tom is caught in a magical mist (ceo draíochta), coming face-to-face with a ghostly father carrying a deceased, unbaptized child in a wooden butter box, desperate to lay his baby to rest.

[35:18] Workarounds of Love and Healing the Ancestors

The circle explores the historical concept of neart bog (gentle strength) shown by Irish mothers who found compassionate "workarounds" to bury lost babies in sacred ground. Jim shares his belief that speaking these heavy stories has the power to heal the wounds of our ancestors.

[39:22] Tarvaa, the Bard of Mongolia

Jim weaves a profound Mongolian legend of a young man who stays behind to care for plague victims and journeys to the underworld. Offered any treasure by the Khan of Death, Tarvaa bypasses gold and jewels to bring the ultimate gift back to the living world: the art of storytelling.

[47:23] Draped in the Shawl of Community

Hears Crow shares a touching image of elder women using their shawls to make "little tents" of privacy for young mothers. Maria recalls the historic "shawlies" of Cork, celebrating how community and oral tradition drape around us like a warm, restorative hug.

[51:10] The Wooden Spoon and the Road Ahead

The episode wraps up with playful banter about childhood encounters with the maternal "wooden spoon" in Ireland and America, closing with a warm, shared blessing for all travelers walking the Story Road.

Key Takeaways

1. Action as the Antidote to Despair Both The Stone Canoe and Blind Tarvaa demonstrate that moving through profound loss requires active engagement with the living. Healing is found not in solitary escape, but in dedicating oneself to serving, feeding, and leading others.
2. Narrative as Ancestral Healing Stories have a unique power to travel backward through time. By speaking aloud painful historical secrets—such as the fate of unbaptized infants—we acknowledge, honor, and help soothe the generational trauma carried by those who came before us.
3. The Ultimate Currency is Connection When Tarvaa is offered the riches of the underworld, he bypasses gold and jewels for Storytelling, recognizing that empathy, song, laughter, and shared narrative are the only treasures capable of sustaining a community through a plague.
4. "Neart Bog" (Gentle Strength) Over Dogma The maternal "workarounds" of Irish folklore remind us that human compassion will always find a way to circumvent harsh dogmas, weaving soft, protective spaces for the vulnerable.

Closing

If you felt the comforting weight of these stories drape over you today, we invite you to join our growing circle.

Subscribe to the Healing Monsters Substack for weekly essays on myth, folklore, and the monsters we must befriend to heal.

Until we meet again on the Story Road: be safe, be warm, and keep listening.

Hello from Cork

Hello from New York

Is mise Máire, Seanchai Chorcaí.

It's Maria, the Cork-based storyteller.

It's me, Jim, here in Fayetteville, New York.

We can't wait to tell you a few stories

Well, welcome everyone to this episode of From Cork to New York.

As always, I'm here, Jim Brule

And here's Maria.

And we are really thrilled to have a special guest this time, Hears Crow, who

comes to us from the woodlands of Vermont.

Hears Crow, please say hello and introduce yourself.

Thank you, Jim, and it's very good to be here.

Thank you, Maria.

I do live in the woods, by choice.

My husband and I live in the tradition of the people known

today as the Narragansett.

Their original, the oldest original name we can find traditionally is

Nanhiganeac, which is hard enough.

It is an Eastern Woodlands Long House tradition, and many of the

people on the East Coast lived in the Long House tradition.

I've published a book of poetry.

I have been doing, now going on, I'm gonna say 40 years worth of storytelling, uh,

starting originally with going to powwows, which are actually today social gatherings

where you can get original crafts.

There are many, many benefits to the community of having these powwows,

and I was a storyteller at the powwow.

And being who I am, I took everybody into the woods.

There was a little round circle of, um, stones big enough to sit on, and

people who come to native events are excellent audiences for native stories.

So I was very blessed, and it moved me on my way.

I have several stories that I love.

And this is one of them, but it's a newer version.

I did some research, and I found a number of different versions across

Native America, and I have no doubt that I would find if I were to research in

Europe, I would find similar stories, because they are so strong and so much

a part of human emotion and intuition.

And the name of this story, unlike all of the others, is The Stone Canoe.

Well, long, long ago, before what we call time began, there was a

village that had a beautiful maiden.

Her hair was blacker than coal and ran all the way down her back to her waist.

She was kind, and she was always helping other people.

It was her nature.

It was her heart.

Well, in that same village, there lived a young man.

Now, this young man was probably the fastest runner in all of the clans,

but he was also an excellent hunter.

And whenever he came back from the hunt, he would take what he had, and he would

share it among the elders, among those who were not healthy enough or strong

enough to hunt for themselves anymore.

All the village thought they were wonderful and would be so good when

they married, for the village and for all the people in the surrounding area.

But as things happen, you can imagine with the honor paid to these two

people, what happened the day of their wedding, when before they could even

be married, she unexpectedly died.

Her death tore everyone in the village into little shreds.

Everyone just stopped where they were

and fell into each other to mourn and share their sorrow.

Well, the women buried her, of course,

and when they were done

they wanted to comfort him, and so they brought food to the wii'tu that

he had built for he and his bride, which was now hollow and cold.

His warrior friends came up to him and then said, "The only way to get out

of this is you gotta pick up your bow and arrow, and we need to go hunt."

And he just

shook his head no,

he could not… Well, he could barely speak.

What do you say when you've lost the only woman you know you will ever love?

He became very solitary, kept himself to himself.

He had heard in many stories over the years that there was a place

called the Land of Souls, and he thought, "Perhaps she is there.

Could this be the answer?

Could I find her again?

'Cause I could not bear to lose her again."

And with that, he packed up his bundle and his bedroll, and he called to the

wild dog that was his, "Hygar!" And out from the woods bounded his companion.

Now, he didn't know how to get to the land of souls, but from all the

stories, he knew that it was south.

So, hmm,

he put his eyes on where the sun had come from and where he knew it would

go before night, and he walked south.

And they walked for a very long time, and they continued to walk.

Now, what he noticed was at first, everything looked the

same way it did by the village.

There were tall trees.

There were spaces between the trees, but there were lots of undergrowth.

And he continued walking, going, "Well, this is like home." But then one morning

when he awoke, and he took out some of the johnnycakes and the fry bread that he

had brought with him, and he's having a little nosh and sharing with his friend.

And his eyes got bigger,

and he looked out and realized that the trees seemed a, a bit greener.

There weren't quite so many of them, but good gracious, they

were huge and beautiful, like they gave off their own light.

Well, he and the dog continued every day at sunrise, they began

to continue their walks south.

It was a strain.

He was grateful to have brought along some water, but they were forever

listening for the sound of running water in stream or a lake, in river.

Even the lakes lap to shore and call out their names.

The grandmothers always sing.

So they always had fresh water and they'd fill up again.

But this was a long and hard journey, for he still carried the burden,

the burden of loss, of grief.

And he knew that that would follow him for a very long time

until he could see her again.

They were grateful for each sunset as well, for they got to rest

and to have something to eat.

But every sunrise they got up, everything kept getting brighter,

and they came at last to a piece of ground that wasn't pure grasslands.

There was a knoll in the center of it.

And there on top was a cabin.

The young man was invigorated.

Here was someone he could speak with and make sure that

he was doing what was right.

Well,

as they started up the hill, the old man called down just loud enough

for them to hear, "What took you so long? I've been waiting for you."

He looked at the dog.

The dog looked at him, and they kept on climbing.

About halfway up, they were closer now, they could see this man who held

a rich, soft glow, not just around his face, but over his entire body.

And although his shoulders were stooped, he stood tall.

Then he said to them, "Ah, I have elderberry tea inside. It's cool, but

I've got cold water. You can wash your face and clean up." And with that, they

reached the top and followed the man that the brave had determined was not just an

old man, and he was not just an elder.

He was the gatekeeper.

When he left this cottage, he would be walking in the land of souls.

Well, he looked over at the man while he was washing his face

and hands and said very simply, "Um, I'm looking for a woman."

He says, "I know, I know.

She was here about 10 days ago.

She was fine.

She was in good health, and she's gone on now.

She's already gone to the Land of Souls.

But she went very slowly, and I didn't quite understand why.

Perhaps she thought you might be coming." And he smiled, and the

young man smiled, and he said, "Okay, come on out to the front door."

And as he got to the door, he pointed.

He said, "You are absolutely headed for your destination.

Keep going down there.

It's not that far.

Now, you're pretty tall, you don't need to stand on your toes.

Um, the lake you see right there has an island in the middle of it,

and there is the Land of Souls.

The water may be very rough as you go across, but you will find the

way to travel when you get there."

And with that, the young man said, "So I'm ready to go?" He said, "Oh, no.

There is a sacrifice for you to make because the living are not allowed."

And with that,

he simply put his hands to the side of his face, and as he did so, the

young man felt his whole body change.

He said, "You must leave all human things behind.

Your dog, your bow and arrow, and your skin will be here when you return.

Are you ready?" The young man said, "Yes." And he said, "Travel well.

May your journey be peaceful."

And with that, he was gone.

Well, the young man was beside himself.

Even the dog was chasing his own tail in circles, because they know.

And off they went.

It didn't take them very long, but it was a bit of a clip to get there.

And as they came right up to the edge of the lake, there was

a beautiful white stone canoe.

It was glimmering in the bright sunshine of the summer day.

And as he looked at it, he saw two paddles, and he picked them

up and he stepped into the canoe.

As he sat down and began to push off, he looked to his left, and there was

the object of his search in exactly identically the same canoe, and she

was pulling up right next to him, and she mimicked all of his strokes.

And they went out into the middle of the lake.

As they traveled, they saw people on either side struggling with great waves,

with canoes taking on water from the, from this height and the, the strength of

the waves, but they had no such problem.

The Great Mystery, Cautantowwit,

had destined that they be one.

And so they worked together as they had for many years.

And he saw the benefit that they would be for all people.

And so their way was smooth as they crossed.

They came to the edge of the lake there on the island.

If he had thought things were bright before, now everything

was glistening and glimmering.

It was many people's dream of paradise, if you will.

The place to go for rest and joy.

But it was indeed for those who had deserved it, because they looked

back over their shoulders, and there were many people just floundering

and going under, one by one.

Only the children were safe.

And so they were together and they have no idea how long.

There was no food.

They drank in

the air that was around them, for that was all the nourishment,

that clean, fresh air, was all the nourishment that spirit needed.

For days, they walked, they laughed, they sang.

They were along the edge of a river.

They were in among the trees, some trees that he'd never even seen

before with long bending leaves.

But in the middle of their joy, of course, the Great Mystery,

Cautantowwit, spoke to the young man.

He said, "I have done all I can for you.

Now you must go home.

You have a life waiting for you.

You don't belong here.

Well, not yet." He said, "Go home.

Serve your people, for you will be a great leader.

And when

you have done all the work that I have for you there, you can return,

and you will be welcomed as she was.

You will be the young man you are today, and she will be just as

beautiful as she is at this moment."

And sad though he was, knowing that there was a future, he would be with his bride,

and he would be with his bride forever.

And with that,

he woke up and he turned, and he started to laugh.

Because among the people, a vision, a dream is a great gift.

It is not a thing to be frightened of or to dismiss.

And for the next many years, little by little, he grew.

He grew in stature.

His muscles got larger.

His friendships were many.

He talked with all the other chiefs, and there was no raids or

war among them because that was his nature, and that was his gift.

The elders were cared for.

He remembered the children in the lake, and so he took special steps to make

sure that the elders and the children would always have time together.

And the day came when he laid his head down, and the last thing that he said

is, "I go now to be with the woman I dreamed of."

Ho!

Oh.

Hears Crow, that was absolutely beautiful, you know?

And we talk often about the threading and weaving of stories, that when you

tell a story, it borrows another one.

And so the story goes around in the circle, and even the circle was in

your story which I loved, you know?

Um, and so, so many beautiful themes, and so many of my story children

wanting to come out now and play.

But before I tell that story, I just want to sit in the enjoyment and the

nourishment of the story that you have told us, and how it goes over and young

between us, between the veil, you know?

And you talk about the, the, uh, we, we call it the time outside time.

I can't remember what you said there, but, you know, um, that, that we're

all linked and, you know, that we can in, in quiet moments and in, you

know, lovely spaces where you have the space to connect with your wise

people who've informed you in your life and the ones that have informed them.

It's, it's so magical, draiochta.

It's so beautiful, you know?

So, um, so thank you for that story, I suppose.

I'm having, um, a lovely heart, gut, soul reaction to it.

And, and I have a story, uh, to respond to it.

But Jim, before I tell that story, how does that one sit with you?

You know, uh, I love the story, of course.

I think part of what really touches me in it is that there is this wonderful

dance with grief that his really heartfelt loss, um, that could have

brought him to a, a, a very dark place.

And yet he couldn't solve it, um, in the way that he hoped for.

He had to solve it with action in this life.

And, and so for me, that's just, um, an important and sweet lesson for us all.

I loved

how

he could listen as well.

You know, when he got this, um, you know, these little bits of advice along the

way from the man who said, "You're going to have to leave your supports behind

you to travel in," and he listened to that, to being told after having such

a wonderful time that you must go back and do your duty, and he listened to

that with a smile and a laugh, you know?

So that was quite amazing.

Yeah.

Thank you, Hears Crow.

Yes.

I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Oh, I will be eating that story for weeks to come.

So there's, there's many little bubbles and little threads

that came up for me in that.

But some places are hard to go to unless you put them into story.

And there was a tradition that's very up in Ireland at the moment,

in our most recent history, but not our distant history.

When we stopped listening, like the young man in your story

listened, uh, weird things happened.

And one of those things was that if a baby was not baptized before it

died, it could not be put in sacred ground, and you can only imagine what

that did to the hearts of the mothers.

And in our wise ways, the mothers came up with workarounds for that.

You know, they couldn't just let it go.

But also the strength of women in Ireland is known as neart bog, gentle strength.

So out of that time, this story came, because in those days a little butter

box, which would take many pounds of butter, but was a small little wooden

box, um, that became, uh, w- what was used to bury those babies in.

In those days, women had lots and lots of children and helped one

another, and outside of that help didn't get much help in the bringing

of children into the world, and also in the rearing of children.

So I suppose that's a little bit of background to the

story before I tell the story.

There's a boy I know, and his name is Tom, and he lives not far from me.

And he would say to us, "Here are them old traditions. Why would anyone be bothered?

Why would anybody be bothered keeping the old ways?" The sian knows, because in the

modern world, with all the answers at your fingertips when you click on the keyboard,

why would you need to question anything?

But I'll ask you that question again at the end of this story.

At the moment, we are in the season of Bealtaine, when everything is

blooming and life is abounding.

But when this story took place, it was at the other time in the year when the

veil thinned and when your people could come in from the other side of the

veil, and you could, if you knew how to listen, if you knew how to look, you

could also visit those other places.

It was October and Oíche Shamhna, Halloween, was coming upon us.

And Tom said to his mother, "I've met a young woman, Mam.

You'd be delighted.

I'm walking out with her, and I'm heading into town now.

I'm, I'm heading in to see her." And his mother looked at him, and she said, "Do

you know what time of the year it is?"

And he said, "I do." She said, "Do you know that tonight is Halloween,

when the veil thins?" "I do," he said.

"I do, but I don't believe in any of that old stuff, Mam." And as he was

talking to her, he was getting his bicycle ready and checking the lamp

to make sure that it was working.

And he went off out the door, and as he walked up the path, she ran after him

with the holy water, throwing it at the back of his head, saying, "Keep him safe."

And he laughed to himself, until as he was walking down the road,

and as the ceo draíochta began to thicken, the Irish mist, he

began to remember all the stories.

The mist was getting so thick now that it was having a kind of a yellow gleam on it

as the lamp from the bike shone into it.

And he couldn't help but remember the stories, the stories that this,

the shortest night of the year, was when people could come in from

the other places, the other planes.

And he tried not to look around, but he couldn't help it.

And as he looked down his own body, he couldn't see his feet

because the mist was rising.

And as he walked along the cold, old stones of Cork, he remembered

the stories of heads appearing out of those stones at certain times of

the year, and this was one of them.

And his pace quickened as he came to Bell's Field.

Oh, Bell's Field.

On a day like today, so beautiful.

As you stand on it and you look over the little hill, you see the whole of

Cork laid out before you with a little silver river nursing its way through

the environment, and the seven spires.

Ah, 'tis beautiful indeed.

But he could see none of that through the mist.

He remembered then all the stories of an ceo draíochta, the magical mist, and

what it hid, and how it softened the edges of people and places so that they

could shape-shift or shift in time.

And it became so overwhelming that he decided to turn the

bike around and go home.

Except, coalescing out of the mist, he could see this figure,

the figure of a, of a man.

And it became solid, and softened, and disappeared, and coalesced,

and faded, and coalesced.

And even though he wanted to go home, his feet took him towards that figure

until he was standing in front of it.

And then it became as solid as you or I. And he looked into the eyes of

that man, and he saw the sorrow there.

And then he looked down, and he saw that the man had his hands out.

And he didn't want to look down, but he couldn't help himself.

And in the man's hand, there was a little wooden box.

And he remembered the stories his mother had told him about the butter boxes.

And it was covered all over in an old cloth, like a flour sack that had been

boiled and boiled and boiled again.

And he lifted the corner of that flour sack, and he looked into that

little box, and he knew the reason that that man was so sorrowful.

For in the box was a little baby, a baby that had never had a chance at life.

Beautiful, like a little budding rose.

Carefully, he placed the cover back down over the child, and then he noticed that

the man's hands were care-worn and hard, as if he had worked hard all his life.

And when he looked up at the man, he saw that he was wearing the shirt

from a different era and a flat cap, and that he looked really pale.

The man turned then and began with his funeral pace to walk down the hills of

Cork, down the Fever Hospital steps, onto the, one of the oldest roads in Cork, up

the winding, narrow, stony roads until he came to the top of Shandon Street.

But it was not like any Shandon Street that Tom had known.

There was no cars parked anywhere.

There was no electric lights.

There was just a candle here and there in the different windows.

And the man began his slow march down the hill, and Tom, not wanting

to lose him, jumped in behind him.

When they came to the end of Shandon Street, the man turns left, and

into the old graveyard he went.

Tom followed him, and he remembered thinking to himself how crazy

his mother had gone when they had tarmacked over the old graveyard.

Yet here it was with gravestones like broken teeth making

their way up through the mist.

The man began to look around, and Tom, fearing to lose him, followed him closely.

Then he found what he wanted, a new dug grave.

And with his bare hands, he put down the box and began to tear at the earth.

And Tom, knowing what he was doing, began to help him.

The man looked at him with such gratitude in his eyes

that Tom began to feel ashamed.

And when the hole was deep enough, they picked up the little wooden box,

and the man placed it as if he was putting his child to bed and covered

it as if he was putting a blanket on his child for the last time.

He began to croon then the old prayer.

Tom had thought he'd forgotten it, but as the man sang, he joined him.

And when he finished,

the man and Tom they looked at one another, and they rose as one being,

the gratitude still in the man's eyes and the absolute privilege in Tom's.

And then the mist began to dissipate, and as it did, the man began to fade,

Tom still looking into his face, and then he coalesced, and then he

faded, and coalesced, and was gone.

Tom dropped his bike in fright and ran out of that place following the mist.

He ran down to the hill where the mist went back to its bath in the

River Lee, and then he heard it.

Beep, beep!

And then he saw the traffic through the mist.

He jumped on the 208 bus and back home to his mother he went.

"Mam," he said, "tell me again of the old ways, for I'll

never ever forget them again."

Sin é mo scéal.

That is my story.

How our stories weave themselves together.

It's, it's amazing.

That was..

I've only heard you a few times, but if I only had one word that I

could use, it would be engaging.

Oh, thank you, Hears.

Because it doesn't matter where you go in your stories, I'm with you.

And that one was unfortunately no exception.

Yeah.

'Cause I'm s- I'm standing behind you being the guy who's looking

at the baby, and I'm like-

"Oh, no, I don't wanna look at that."

Yeah.

And, you know, as a, as a whole country, we don't want to look at that, but I think

it's so important- Yeah … you know?

So yeah, yeah.

Yep.

I hear you, you know?

So, um, m- my mom used to tell us about the butter box babies, and there's

a wonderful woman called Danielle O'Donovan who's taken over the Butter

Museum, and there's such nourishment in butter, and Ireland is known for

it, the golden butter, you know?

But also in times gone by when people didn't have an awful lot of

money, they made use of things, so the butter boxes became like your

little cupboard shelves, you know?

And the tea, um, the tea chests became the first playpens and the first furniture

of people when they were setting a home.

So, um, there's an awful lot of i- I suppose in that story for me, there's

an awful lot of love around the pain, a little bit like in your story.

So it's like, um, the traditions can somehow soften it.

Doesn't take it away, you know?

You still look, but you know you're holding hands with the others, you know?

So yeah.

And it's, it's so powerful for me in another way, which is that, there's

this notion that, you know, we tell stories to kind of heal ourselves,

help our own healing, help the healing of those around us, help the

healing of the generations to come.

But I also believe that stories can help heal the ancestors.

Um, you know, and, and this is a wonderful- Yeah … example of that.

And just on that point, Jim - uh, a very important thing that I forgot to mention

was the reason for the fresh grave.

So, a, in, in a, a mother's mind, there is nothing more precious than her baby, even

when that baba is born dead, you know?

So, uh, the workaround was to find a fresh grave and to put the baby at

the feet so that they could hold hands going into heaven together, you know?

So it was like, so that's an- another lovely connection.

And then they said, "Who would refuse you entry into heaven if you're

holding a baby's hand?" You know, so…

Well, how about one more story?

Yeah.

Please, tell us a story.

And I will say, uh, you know, we think about what stories are kind of

being rambunctious inside us as we get ready for- … for these encounters.

And then I hear these stories, and the one that I'm going to tell

is the one that has to be told.

I learned this story from my dear friend and colleague Rebecca Lemaire.

This is a story from Mongolia.

It's a story, that has, again, uh, many versions, although most of them are oral.

It's an old, old story.

It's better passed on orally.

Um, and those that are written seem to, to, to challenge

the, the deeper parts of it.

So this is, this is an oral story.

It's about someone who is pretty famous in Mongolia, but I'll mention his name later.

Mongolia has some beautiful, beautiful places.

It has lakes, it has steppes, it has the wide open spaces that in

this country we think of as Montana.

I mean, just beautiful, beautiful open spaces, and

mountains of course all around.

And all of that physical beauty of the land is not enough to prevent terrible

things from happening sometimes.

And in this case, the terrible thing that happened was a plague.

And this was a plague that moved through communities in

a way that was just horrific.

People were dying right and left, and they were… If you

got sick, you were gonna die.

There was no recovery from this plague.

And so the people had to decide, "What could I do? Should I stay with

my sick relative, my sick beloved, and care for them as they crossed to

the next world? Or should I flee?"

And the plague was so severe that if you stayed to care for your

loved ones, you were gonna get the plague and you were gonna die.

And so most people fled.

It was the smart thing to do.

But of course, there was one young man, really barely not, no longer a

boy, who decided to stay, and decided to care for those whom he loved.

And as hour passed hour and day passed day, he felt the plague descend upon him.

And he did his best to continue to comfort those who were somehow still alive.

But the fever took him,

the great sleep took him and he fell backwards, unconscious.

And as he lay there, he could feel his soul leaving his body

and heading towards the underworld.

Who

knows how long it took.

But eventually he arrived at the gates.

And as he walked through the gates to the underworld, the great Khan

of Death looked at him, angry and said, "What are you doing here?"

And the young boy said, "What do you mean?

I, I had the plague.

I, I was dying."

And the Khan of Death said, "You weren't dead. Now's not your time.

Why did you, why did you come here?"

And the, and the young man said, "I, I knew I was going to die, and

I didn't want anybody to stay behind to care for me, 'cause I didn't want

them to get sick as well. I- it just seemed the best thing to do. I wanted

to care for as many as I could, but not be a burden to anyone else."

And the Khan listened to that,

and he was touched.

He felt a great sympathy for this young man.

And he said, " You are going to have to go back, but you've done

such a great thing that you may take one of my treasures with you."

And he opened up his treasure store.

Now, what was in this treasure store is not what you or I might think was there.

Yes, there were jewels.

Yes, there were golden baubles.

But that was clearly not the treasure.

What was the treasure were things like laughter, things like pain,

things like joy, things like love, things like poetry, things like song.

And for every good thing that was in there, it was-- there

was another that accompanied it.

And this young man, who now we'll name as Tarvaa, Tarvaa wandered amongst all these

gifts, and he looked here and he looked there, and finally he saw something.

And he said, "That's the one."

Then the great Khan looked at him and said, "You've

chosen so very, very wisely."

What had he chosen?

He had chosen Storytelling.

And so the great Khan gave him the gift of Storytelling and said, "Now, you've

chosen your gift, and you must return. Don't come back until you're dead.

Go back and live the rest of your life."

And Tarvaa, Tarvaa of course agreed.

And he returned him to the gates, and he began the long and difficult

journey back to the land of the living.

And he had to return to life.

Now you know from that that he somehow managed to survive the plague.

But his body had not just been wracked by the plague so that it was weak and broken.

But the birds had come and pecked out his eyes so that he no longer had sight.

But he had the gift of story, and he had the gift of Story.

And so he became the great bard of Mongolia, wandering blind for the rest

of his life, telling stories like no one else could before or has since.

And that's how Blind Tarvaa became known as the Bard of Mongolia.

I was just going to say, "Sea sin go h-iontach." That was wonderful, Jim.

I absolutely loved it.

Can you remember hearing that and where it landed in you?

Yes.

And I, well, I heard it from Rebecca, and you, you might

know Rebecca is also a musician.

And so this was accompanied by song.

Oh, lovely.

Yeah.

And, uh, it, it just, um, it landed very deeply.

Yeah.

Landed very deeply.

Well, you've cast it very deeply.

'Cause I heard that very deeply from you, so that was lovely, you know?

So what did you think, Hears Crow?

I never cease to be amazed.

I have, I, I, I have heard Jim tell many stories.

Mm.

But I suspect that I have not seen or heard, not a quarter, not a tenth,

I can't even find the percentage of stories that I have heard compared

to those that he carries within.

Yeah.

For sure.

And this was one I had not had the pleasure of having

it draped over me before.

Oh, draped over you.

I love it.

Well, to me, to drape a story is there's nowhere else to look.

There's nothing else to see.

There's nothing else to do.

Just be there.

That's it.

Well, we, we have a great fondness for cloaks in our stories in Ireland.

Yes.

Like you've the, the Brigid's cloak, and you have like, you know, St.

Patrick and bringing people in under his cloak and stuff like that.

So to hear the draping word is like, yes, stories drape around you like a warm hug.

It's lovely.

So and that was an absolutely beautiful story, uh, from a very

old tradition, and I, I hear the o- you know, the oral threads in it.

It was so nice to hear that.

Yeah.

I was just going to say, you reminded me when you talked about the cloaks

of, um, when an old woman and a younger woman came together, and the

old woman had something to share.

Yeah.

She'd pick up two sides of her shawl and then drape them across the back of

the young woman, and then they would sit there and talk about what they needed to

talk about, and nobody could hear them, and in their mind, nobody could see them.

Oh, they made a little tent.

I love it.

You know?

That's great.

We had-

Yeah, it took me right back.

Oh, stop.

So when I was born in Cork, the, it was at the end of the era of the shawlies,

and I remember the women with the shawls.

So even the fact that you call them shawls is such a connection, you know?

And I remember, um, you know, they, that if you m- I said to my mom, "Oh, my

God, how did Granny mind nine children?"

And she says, "We all minded one another's children, and all the children minded

the other children." And she said, "If you fell, and a shawlie woman sat you

on her knee and put her shawl around you, there was no medicine like it.

You were going to be okay." You know?

But they had lovely little things, like they'd kiss you on the head

and they'd, they'd say, "I'll kiss you better," and they'd give you a

little kiss on the head, you know?

Mm-hmm.

Or they, or wise sayings like, you know, "You'll be better

before you're twice married."

To a five-year-old, you know?

So a five-year-old would be going around saying, kind of going, "I'll

be better before I'm twice married."

I love that.

But of the Irish expressions that I was exposed to from

sisters-in-law, my favorite is, "I'm going to get the wooden spoon."

Oh, yeah.

That was a threat and a half.

One day one of my sister-in-laws is sitting there, and her daughter's being

the wind and horrid all at the same time.

Every time she does something, her mother says, "I'm gonna get the wooden spoon."

Yeah.

And we still sit there and continue to chat.

"I'm gonna get the wooden spoon." And then finally, after it had to be 30 minutes,

I stood up and Fiona looked at me and said, "What are you doing?" I said, "I'm

gonna get the wooden spoon." That was it.

She sat down on the floor right there.

Because if I get the wooden spoon-

That's it.

That's it … it's

not a warning.

Exactly.

You know?

Oh, I love it.

I was gonna say- I love it … and, and Ketchie always knew exactly-

He, he- … when I was gonna come into the conversation.

Yeah.

She'd do it until we got to that number, and then I went.

Anyway.

Well, I'm not from that tradition, but my mother had a wooden

spoon for the same purpose.

Oh.

And, and I- Yeah … will just say that there was a day when the

wooden spoon broke across my bottom.

Ooh.

So.

Oh, my goodness.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Well, the stock answer in the Ireland of long ago was, "What

did you do to deserve that?"

Well, it's one of those great stories that I don't remember,

but I'm sure I never did it again.

Yes, exactly.

Oh, what a nourishing day.

How lovely it is to share stories with you guys, you know.

Um, and I suppose it would be nice to mention where we met.

So Jim was running this beautiful, um, spiritual story circle, and he

invited people of everywhere and anywhere to come to it, which is

how I ended up at it, you know.

And I met Hears Crow there.

And what I loved about it was that everybody was fully

accepted in their tradition.

I loved it, you know, so… And I'm looking forward to coming back.

Oh,

and there was another meeting that we had, which is in person.

So we met online, and we met in person at the Woodstock Storytelling

Festival just a year or so ago.

Yeah.

So yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah, that was, that, that was such an incredible surprise.

I don't know how you kept it from me.

And I, I lost my words.

I remember seeing Hears Crow, and all I could do was… It was

just brilliant, brilliant to meet you, Hears Crow, you know, so.

It was a wonderful start for all of us.

Mm. And that's the joy- Yeah of the story road- You know … isn't it,

that, that we meet- Uh-huh … in many ways- Oh … at many times.

And just like our stories weave … So do, so do our lives.

Uh, it's really, really wonderful.

Well, I'm, I, uh, I wanna thank you both so much.

Um, we will, we will draw this episode to a close.

And, um, and, uh, thanks again, and goodbye.

Goodbye to you both.

Bye-bye.

Mwah.

Yeah.

Will we say goodbye from Cork?

And goodbye from New York, but only for a while because we'll be

back again with another episode.

Absolutely.

We can't wait to see you on The Story Road one more time, and from this time

till that, be safe on The Story Road.