Enchantment for Story Lovers
Aunt Truly’s Tales
A dash of whimsy and a dose of wisdom for our times.
If you like stories that call to mind a simpler era and words strung in lyrical ways, this collection will take you to a wondrous world where ordinary rules do not apply.
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Podcasts, blogs, movies, vlogs—people spin yarns in many ways. But nothing dazzles like a story told in person. In the right teller’s hands, a simple narrative has unfathomable power. Such is the case with Aunt Truly, a spellbinding character in Laura McHale Holland’s novel The Kiminee Dream. She is old, but no one knows her age; she travels, but where she goes is a mystery. One thing is certain: she collects stories.
The ten tales in this book present traditional and original stories Aunt Truly might tell you if you happened by her home, Windy Wood, where snow falls from November through April, and reality is open to interpretation. In her tales, you’ll meet a determined frog, clever seamstress, wise handyman, stolen wife and more unlikely heroes who face daunting trials. Some succeed; others do not. In the process, they are all transformed.
A story from Aunt Truly's Tales
"The Frog Who Wouldn't Budge"
When Illini tribes and a smattering of French settlers lived in what is now Illinois and forests and prairie stretched for mile after mile, a trapper built a cabin in remote woods by what he thought was a quiet pond.
Except the pond wasn’t quiet. A golden frog that croaked and chuck-chuck-chucked all the time lived there, too. In fact, the little frog had called that pond home for a long, long time.
The amphibian’s claim to the pond mattered not to the trapper, who detested the frog sounds. So he stood up tall by the water’s edge, puffed up his chest, stomped his feet, waved his arms and yelled, “Go away, frog, before I catch you and eat you up.”
The trapper was a fearsome sight, but the little frog wasn’t cowed. He went on about his business, croaking and chuck-chuck-chucking the whole time.
The trapper stormed off and returned with a shotgun. “Go away, frog, before I blast you to high heaven,” he growled.
But the little frog wasn’t cowed. He croaked and chuck-chuck- chucked with pride. Incensed, the trapper aimed and pulled the trig- ger. Buckshot sprayed everywhere. Some landed on the little frog, giv- ing him spots of deep greenish brown. This bothered him not a whit. He went about his business, croaking and chuck-chuck-chucking away.
The man returned to his cabin, where he sulked and fumed and sulked some more—until a new idea struck. He bent low to the ground and slinked toward the frog inch by inch. It took half the day because he crept so slowly, but at last, the unsuspecting amphibian was within reach.
He lurched, wrapped his fingers around the poor creature and cackled. “I’ve got you now!” His face contorted into a sinister smile as he reveled in his victory.
But, again, the golden frog that now had green spots wasn’t cowed. He wiggled and croaked, jiggled and chuck-chuck-chucked, tickling the man’s hand. Flustered, the captor snorted and loosened his grip while his gutsy prey squiggled out and hopped away.
The trapper pursued, but the frog was too fast, so the man gave up and slumped on home. Soon he heard the frog croaking and chuck- chuck-chucking yet again. He went to bed that night fuming about his nemesis. He couldn’t sleep one wink.
But in the morning, the man remembered his fish net. He grabbed it and snuck up on the frog again. This time, he captured and held his mark with ease. He pranced off with glee, wondering what to do with the noisy frog, and then it came to him. “Ha! I’l bury you deep, deep in the ground, you little pest.” This the man did, certain he’d never hear from the frog again.
At day’s end, he celebrated by roasting a rabbit over his fire pit and heating up biscuits and beans to go with it. As night fell, he drift- ed off to sleep right by the fire, which was still going strong, keeping him nice and warm. Then, as he dreamt of a quiet life by the pond, he was awakened by a barrage of croaking and chuck-chuck-chucking. He shot up, squinting, and realized the assault on his ears was com- ing from underground—right where he’d buried the frog.
Enraged, he dug up the hole and pulled out his victim. “Ha! You think you’re so smart. I’ll put an end to you once and for all!”
The poor thing wasn’t the least bit golden anymore; he was tan with greenish brown spots, but he remained alive as alive could be—and not the least bit cowed. He croaked and chuck-chuck-chucked away. Blind with fury, the trapper threw the frog into the flames.
There was a sizzle and a pop. Then hundreds of sparks burst out and flew through the air toward the trapper. As each spark landed, it turned into a tan frog with dark spots. Each one croaked and chuck- chuck-chucked in harmony with the others forged in fire.
Those were the ancestors of the leopard frogs living in these parts to this day. As for the trapper, he ran off hollering up a storm, beat- ing away frogs that croaked and chuck-chuck-chucked at his heels. Nobody ever saw him again, not in Illinois anyway.
Praise for Aunt Truly’s Tales
Holland’s range as a storyteller is akin to the virtuosity of a concert violinist who can play the shoe-tapping rhythms of a country fiddle for a simple folktale, or the haunting melodies of a sonata for a mysterious fairytale. Enjoy the diverse imagery drawn from ancient lore, all packed into one magical book.