JONESBOROUGH, Tennessee—The Courthouse tent can hold a thousand people, but it was not big enough for this event. Perched on cushions on the banks of the railroad track, the crowd clustered outside the tent. They had come to hear Kathryn Windham tell stories. She was one of many speakers at the 37th National Storytelling Festival, which occurs on the first weekend of October each year.
At 91, Windham’s slim back was bowed with age, but she spoke as if each listener was a friend on her front porch.
She told of her Aunt Bet opening the front door to greet her pastor. She was wearing a kitchen apron and white gloves to hide her hands which had turned purple from making blackberry wine on the Sabbath.
When Ms. Windham was invited to the second storytelling festival 36 years ago, she thought it was a prank. “Mr. Smith is sending me a ticket to Jonesborough. Hmm. If they’re fool enough to send for me I’m fool enough to go.”
Again and again, she interrupted herself. “I’m not going to tell you about that. Time gets away from me. I need to tell you things you need to know. Like about breakfast, dinner, and supper, and about not putting sugar in cornbread.”
At 91, Windham’s slim back was bowed with age, but she spoke as if each listener was a friend on her front porch.
She told of her Aunt Bet opening the front door to greet her pastor. She was wearing a kitchen apron and white gloves to hide her hands which had turned purple from making blackberry wine on the Sabbath.
When Ms. Windham was invited to the second storytelling festival 36 years ago, she thought it was a prank. “Mr. Smith is sending me a ticket to Jonesborough. Hmm. If they’re fool enough to send for me I’m fool enough to go.”
Again and again, she interrupted herself. “I’m not going to tell you about that. Time gets away from me. I need to tell you things you need to know. Like about breakfast, dinner, and supper, and about not putting sugar in cornbread.”
