One of my main regrets is that I never recorded my grandfather telling his stories. Just to have captured his slow southern drawl, and to be able to replay that would have meant so much to me.
His name was Alvin Fowler and he was one of six boys in his eastern Tennessee family of loggers. One day, he just laid down his ax and hopped on the train as it curled through the mountains. He ended up on a different mountain range altogether in Arkansas, and in like manner, his other siblings dispersed to the cattle lands of western Texas and the urban lands of opportunity in Chicago and New Orleans.
His Scotch practicalities and staunch independence runs through my blood along with my mother's Spanish passions and energetic optimism.
Just one of my many stories, but what I wouldn't give to hear his voice again. Check out this storytelling blog and tell your children, no matter how old they are, one of your stories today...
for the thrill of listening to storytellers http://thestorytellersblog.blogspot.com/
for info re: storytelling http://storyteller.blogpsot.com/
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