Song of the Frogs

This story is an excerpt from Morgan Schatz Blackrose’s upcoming biography:

Stories in my Life: Living and Dying a Storyteller.

There was once a chief who brought his people to camp on the edge of a swamp. They lay down to sleep that night to the sound of the frogs’ song. The array of rhythmic croaks and calls brought great comfort to the people because it signified the harmony in which they all lived. But the chief was outraged with the ribbitting racket of the swamp dwellers and screamed for them to shut up. They were disturbing his sleep. But the frogs paid no heed to the rantings of the chief and continued their song. The chief tossed and turned and bellowed his fury at the frogs, but they continued their song well into the night. At dawn the chief had worked himself into a state of rage not only at the frogs’ song but their refusal to be silent. He called his warriors together and demanded they bring everyone before him. When all the people were assembled the chief proclaimed that the frogs were to all punished for disturbing his peace. Everyone was given a large stick and ordered to enter the swamp and beat the frogs to death. If they refused to carry out the chief’s orders they would be beaten instead.

With great reluctance the people took the clubs and trudged into the swamp. All except an old woman who refused to take a stick and remained steadfast in front of the chief.

‘Why do you defy me?’ demanded the chief.

‘Because all is connected,’ she answered.

‘What do you mean?’ asked the chief.

‘You will find out,’ she replied.

The chief glared at the old woman, then shouted for her to leave him before he beat her himself.

Later that day the people sat around their camps, disheartened by the dreadful deed they had carried out. That night an eerie silence filled the air. The people found it hard to sleep, knowing that the frogs were no longer their companions. The chief however slept soundly, that night and the next.

It was the third night that he was awakened by an annoying hum. Swarms of mosquitoes descended on the camp. The mosquito larvae no longer eaten by the frogs had all hatched and the swamp was infested with millions of mosquitoes. The night air was filled with the drone of mosquitoes punctuated by the sounds of people slapping their bitten skin.

‘Enough is enough,’ they cried, and quietly gathered their belongings and moved away from the swamp and their chief.

At dawn the following day the chief, who had barely slept a wink, stood up and looked around. He was all alone, except for the old woman who had refused to kill the frogs. She stared at the chief’s bite ridden face and body and shook her head.

‘Now do you understand what I said about all being connected?’ she asked. 

Then she turned from him and walked away, leaving him with no one to rule over but the mosquitoes.

Story Source: Eleven Nature Tales A multicultural journey by Pleasant DeSpain

August House, Little Rock Arkansas US copyright 1996

Photo: Roman W. Schatz, 2020

diana Foma March20

Soundtrack To My Youth – Part 4

The freedom ride! 

The jeans have lost their flair inserts, they are straight legged again, however they have gained a couple of safety pins.  Not to hold them together, but to make a mild punk statement.  I did try to pierce my face with one but that hurt!  So on to the trousers they went.  ‘You look ridiculous!’ my Mother exclaimed, ‘and what will the neighbours say? They all know I am a good seamstress!’ She shook her head and walked away.

It’s 1978, I had been to London and Punk was the order of the day, albeit a neat and tidy order in provincial Switzerland! In fact, I couldn’t imagine living in a more boring place than where I was.  As far as I was concerned, absolutely nothing ever happened in my town.  I needed to get out. I wanted to see the world, meet new people and have adventures …. but first I had to do the dishes.  Then my best friend Cello got his car licence and a nice blue Opel Ascona.  Freedom had arrived!  Now we would be able to get out of town, cruise the streets and be men of the world.  The car came equipped with a neat eight track cassette system and half a dozen old tapes.  Percy Sledge’s Greatest Hits being the best of the bunch.  On the day Cello got his license, he picked me up at around six in the evening and off we went.  Oh the feeling of independence, the old cassette deck was turned up to 11 as we cruised around the hills singing along with Percy.

And then we crashed! Coming round a sharp bend we hit the side of the road, the car spun around and headed straight for the side of the mountain.  We were stopped by a long wooden fence, of which we cleaned up about 10 metres, a wooden plank finally smashed through the front windscreen, narrowly missing us both.  The car eventually stopped, but  Percy Sledge was still singing ‘When a man loves a woman’.  We turned to each other, both looking pale but thankfully unhurt.  We turned Percy Sledge off and got out of the car.

And that was the end of our great freedom for a while; drivers licence and car both gone in the one day! So today’s song is not Percy, he still gives me an uneasy feeling when I hear him!

In 1978 I listened to a lot of different music, but this track seems to sum up an eventful year in an unremarkable town.  (Besides, It has a camera on the front cover!)

Elvis Costello ‘Pump it up’

Soundtrack To My Youth – Part 2

The flared jeans that I am wearing used to be straight legged pants but I pestered my mum to insert some panels, so now I had multi-coloured flairs.  This way I could truck down the road like all the other cats.  Mind you, I wasn’t allowed to wear platform boots and my hair had to stay at a respectable length, but at least I was able to grow my record collection.

In 1975 music became a form of travel for me.  Part of that travel was a regular journey to the local record bar, where I could listen to the latest vinyl offerings.  I started to take risks and began moving away from the glam rock and top 40 boxes and found myself gravitating  toward the funk and soul section. There I found records with artist names that I had never heard of and exotic looking album covers; bands like Osibisa, who had a flying elephant on the cover!  This had to be worth a listen.  So I gave up on Schlager music and became a Soul fool!  The only thing the two had in common was the letter S!

Today’s choice is a cracker soul tune by William DeVaughn, from a bargain basement original, as advertised on TV, K-Tel record.

I still have a pair of flared jeans in the wardrobe I just know they’ll make a comeback. As for the long hair, that is another story!

William DeVaughn ‘Blood is thicker than water’

The Number 1 Bus to North Korea

It looked ominous. Suddenly we were surrounded by dozens of tanks and army personnel carriers. On every street corner soldiers stood guard. The sound of the tanks rumbling was only superseded by the occasional screech of fighter jets overhead.

The tranquility of our ride on Bus Number 1 along the east coast of South Korea had come to an end.  I guess we shouldn’t have been surprised, as Bus Number 1 from Sokcho heads up to the North Korean border. The destination for the day was the Demilitarised Zone in Goseong, also known as the DMZ. The observatory there is the closest to North Korea and the northernmost point of South Korea.  More than one million people visit this area on an annual basis. Visitors can see the Geumgangsan (Diamond Mountains) and the Haegeumgang in North Korea, and unlike many other observatories, there are no restrictions on photographs.

As luck would have it, the South Korean army was staging a military exercise, and this underlay the seriousness of the ongoing tension between North and South Korea. Looking out the window of the bus was like traveling back in time, as the villages had a 1950’s appearance.  This region is a long way from the modern mega-cities that are in other parts of the country.  The road winds its way north, past farmland and beautiful beaches. However there are constant reminders of where we are, as the beaches are fenced off with barbed wire and there are a number of observation lookouts along the coast. The threat of invasion from the North is still extant.

 After an hour’s bus ride we arrived at the last stop, a little bus depot on the side of the road. We then had to walk the last fifteen minutes to the DMZ registration office. It was a quiet day with only a few visitors and the souvenir shop vendors looked sleepy.  Once we registered ourselves, the officer ordered a taxi to take us to the observatory.  To get there we passed the border crossing between the two countries. There is a multi-laned highway leading up to several check points, however they are not operational. There is nowhere you can access North Korea from South Korea.  After passing a military checkpoint, where the car was carefully inspected including the boot, we were cleared to access the observatory.

There is a time limit of one hour to be on the site.  We were lucky to get the best taxi driver in Korea on the day, and he drove us right to the top of the observation point, saving us the walk up the hill from the carpark. He lent us his good binoculars then left while we explored the surreal environment that is the DMZ.  The first thing that struck me was how peaceful it was, after all it was still an active war site.  The weather had turned and we found ourselves looking into North Korea on a grey, misty day.  The sound of tank artillery from the distant military exercise by the South Korean’s gave the experience a poignant soundtrack. Up here at the observatory it was quiet, with only a handful of visitors, although the big viewing platform with many seats and mounted binoculars hinted at how many people frequented this place. However, it wasn’t just people looking across the border, also facing the one party dictatorship of North Korea were giant statues of Buddha and Mary; a symbolic gesture of the openness of South Korea.

The ride home on Bus Number 1 offered the same adventurous view as the journey north.  More tanks and army on the move, but by now we were used to them.  This was only an exercise and I can’t imagine the terror that the local population went through during the active War in 1950 – 1953.  I see the old people and know that many of them have families across the border, that they may never see again. A sombre feeling juxtaposed by the peaceful landscape that we were passing through.

Back in Sokcho, we finished the day off in the Abai Village, eating a delicious North Korean meal of Ojingeo Sundae (오징어 순대) stuffed squid sausage.  The village consists of a small group of houses and shops located on what used to be a sandbar offshore from the main city of Sokcho. As the North Korean army retreated from South Korea in 1950, a large number of North Koreans ended up trapped on the southern side of the newly established border between the two nations. With nowhere else to go, what began as temporary accommodation eventually became permanent.

My hope is that in the near future the Korean people will once again be united to live in peace and as one nation, and that Bus Number 1 will take passengers all the way to Pyongyang.

The Hiker and the Heavenly Maidens

The sun’s rays transformed the water into a river of gold, the trees danced in the breeze and the path leading up the mountain beckoned me to explore the Park’s treasures. It was springtime in South Korea, a perfect season to experience the beauty of Seoraksan National Park. I was staying in the small town of Yangyang in Gangwon province, near the park, and it was here I met a local woman who offered to be my guide.

We set off from the Osaek Hot Springs and headed towards Daeseung Falls.  The track followed a mountain stream and I stopped frequently, not because it was an arduous walk, but the mountain views took my breath away.

My guide pointed out a waterhole in the river and commenced telling the Korean myth about the Woodcutter and The Heavenly Maidens. In the story, the heavenly maidens descend to Earth to bathe in a secret waterhole in the mountains.  They are spotted by a woodcutter who steals the clothes of one of the maidens, preventing her return to Heaven.  While listening to the tale it dawned on me that I was familiar with it. My wife, who is a storyteller, told this story to school students when we had previously visited Korea.  It was one of her favourite myths and here I was, in the very place of it’s birth. Not only was the landscape beautiful, it now felt magical.

Too soon my guide had to return home, so I hiked on by myself. Seoraksan National Park is a popular destination for Koreans and foreigners alike, especially in Autumn when the leaves change colour and the park becomes a spectacular kaleidoscope of Autumn hues.  Hiking in Spring however has the advantage of the park not being so crowded, so for much of the time I was on my own.

As I was walking along I couldn’t stop thinking about the story, and at one particularly deep waterhole imagined that perhaps the maidens also came there to bathe. Although the track to the actual setting for the waterhole in the myth, the Twelve Angels Bath (십이선녀탕) was closed due to maintenance, I sensed the whole area alive with the presence of the maidens.

My daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of voices. I turned around and saw seven catholic nuns approaching. Wearing their traditional habits, they appeared to be floating towards me. Was I dreaming or had some heavenly maidens stepped out of the story and come to visit me? We greeted each other and the nuns proceeded to climb down to the water, take off their shoes and soak their feet. I couldn’t believe the myth was unfolding in front of my eyes.  Unlike the woodcutter in the story, I had no intention of stealing their shoes, but being a photographer I wanted to take a few photos. They nodded their assent and asked me to come and join them to share some fruit. Together we sat, our feet cooling in the waterhole, eating watermelon and enjoying the sunshine.

Eventually it came time to leave and continue my journey. I was saying my farewell when they said, ‘Stop, we a have a gift for you.’ They all stood up and sang. Their voices, pure as the snow melt soared up the mountainside and into the heavens.  Tears welled in my eyes and I felt blessed. After we parted, I could not stop smiling for the rest of the day.

Seoraksan National Park is a truly magical place, with its sublime landscape and great hiking trails where you can meet cheery hikers and if you are lucky, perhaps a heavenly maiden!

Batshit Crazy or Boring as Batshit?

Morgan's Wild Life

The first phrase is a commonly used cliche in Australia and I’m not sure of its origins, although I suspect it was coined by someone who liked alliteration and didn’t like bats. The second is commonly used in the United States to denote being extremely upset. The origin coming from an allusion to insanity (bats in your belfry, and because of their sensitivity to sound, only church belfys would be inhabited by bats if the bells were no longer rung, and lots of bats mean lots of batshit)
On our Kooloonbung walk we hear and smell the bats (grey headed flying foxes) before we see them. They roost in the branches of the casuarinas, 4 to 8 metres up. However this morning many of them chose a different spot along the path and were very low down. They are noisy creatures, usually screeching and chattering but our presence caused a…

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Here Be Dragons

Morgan's Wild Life

During medieval times (the end of the fifth century until the end of the fifteenth century) this phrase was written on maps to signify dangerous or unexplored territories, imitating earlier maps which had illustrations of dragons and sea serpents.
The waters around my part of the world are relatively well known to whale watchers, surfers, fisherfolk and the like, so the chances of spotting a dragon are slim, unless you are looking for Australian ones. Although rare to see in the surf, the Eastern Water Dragons (Intellegama lesuerii) live in the rainforest, parks and waterways along the coastland.
They often adopt statuesque poses but when they run, the little ones are a comical sight, as their heads and tails come up, making them look like the letter U on legs. Pictured is an adult dragon on the Kooloonbung walking trail..


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King Midas, Roman and the Turkish Barber

stories in my life

Remember that a crown is nothing but a hat with a hole in it!

My parting words after telling the Greek myth of King Midas and the golden touch. It’s been a long time since I told that story and even longer since I told the lesser known tale of his continuing foolishness, King Midas has donkey’s ears. However, visiting the ruins of the ancient Greek city of Ephesus (Efes), in combination with an invitation to cross the threshold and enter the hallowed male domain of a Turkish barber to photograph his work, I am reminded of the importance of the second story.

In ancient times King Midas of Phrygia, now a region in western Turkey, narrowly escaped an ignominious death after realising that his wish to turn everything he touched to gold meant that he would die of thirst and starvation. The God Dionysius expunged the wish and commanded…

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