#Big Top Chautauqua

[sissylittlefeather]

Clean Up Your Own Backyard: A Walter Hale Story

A/N: So, I'm obsessed with The Trouble With Girls. Like, "watch it almost everyday" obsessed 😂. Naturally, Walter Hale needed a fic. I mean, have you seen him?!

Big thanks to @ccab for hounding me about this until I finally finished it. Love youuuuu!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m&f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~4.5k

Unfamiliar with Walter? Bless your heart. Here:

Gilroy, Iowa has been home to you since the day you were born and you've been trying to get out of there for almost just as long. But there was never anywhere to go and having been born in the year 1900, your options were fairly limited. At the tender age of 18, you got married, just for something interesting to do. You had your son a year later and that definitely gave you something to do. Your husband was good to you until he died at the tail end of the Spanish flu epidemic in 1920. Since then, it's been you and Joseph Jr., or Joey, against the world and the thought of leaving faded into the background of your memory.

In the summer of 1927, the Chautauqua rolls through like it does every summer. You work at the hotel as a maid, so you're keenly aware of their presence. This time, something's different, though. There seems to be a new energy among the company and you learn from listening to them chatter that something wild happened in their last town. There was a murder and the manager was actually able to use it to his advantage. You think to yourself that this is a disgusting use of human vulnerability, but it doesn't surprise you. These Chautauqua managers are always a little slimy. Thankfully, as a maid, you never really interact with the more powerful people. In fact, you don't really interact with anyone. To them, you're invisible unless you're in the way, so you're able to go about your daily business without much interruption.

One day, you're busy cleaning in an empty room with the door open. The weather is warm, so you left it open to get a breeze as you work. Without realizing it, you're singing almost at the top of your lungs. You've always been a person who sings while you work and really while you do anything. It's just a bad habit that you have. People have told you that you have a lovely voice, but it never seemed to matter much other than earning you some solos at church here and there.

So when you're singing in the hotel as you clean, you're shocked to turn around and find a man in the doorway.

"Oh sweet berries! You scared me!"

"I'm sorry, honey. I was just listening to you."

"To me?"

"You're quite the little canary, you know that?"

He's unbearably handsome with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"I am?"

"Don't act so surprised, toots."

"Well, thank you, I guess." You turn to go back to cleaning, but he doesn't leave. He just stands in the doorway and watches you clean. You look back at him and he smiles, his eyes sparkling.

"I might like to hear you again sometime."

"Well, I clean the hotel almost every day, so I'm sure you will." He laughs and is about to speak again when an older man bustles up to him.

"Walter, we need you. Stop trying to seduce the locals and get back to your job." You look down and blush at the thought that this attractive man might be trying to flirt with you. He goes to leave, but turns to you just before he walks away.

"See you around, honey. I hope." With that he's gone and you go back to cleaning. This time, though, you hum quietly instead of singing out loud.

******

Walter follows Johnny back to his room to discuss whatever this problem is.

"She's gone." Johnny is panting and sweating and Walter can tell he's panicking.

"What do you mean she's gone? Who's gone?"

"Charlene. She disappeared in the night."

"Damn." He looks down at his feet and shakes his head. Maybe he should've tried harder to convince her to stay instead of trying to force her. Still, Walter is not one to mourn the loss of a woman for long. But this does present a pretty big problem for the company. He thinks quickly.

"Put Betty in charge of the story tent. She's been working with Charlie, she knows what to do. I'll find someone to work with her."

"Find someone? Where?" Johnny asks annoyed. Walter thinks about you and your nightingale voice.

"Somewhere. Don't you worry." He heads for the door to go talk to Betty and Johnny follows him closely.

"You've got that look again, Boss. You've got an idea that's going to make trouble." Walter laughs again. In the hallway, he hears you humming and smiles. He does have an idea.

******

After getting Betty set up, Walter stands at the back of the tent and listens to the children audition for the show. Most of them don't have much to offer, so he's just about to leave when a boy of about 8 takes the stage. He requests a gospel song from Betty and begins to sing. Walter turns on his heel quickly. The boy has the prettiest soprano he's ever heard and he's absolutely killing the gospel number. He watches the boy sing his whole song while the wheels turn in his mind. At the end, he walks to the front to catch the boy before he leaves.

"Hey, son, wait a minute." The boy looks up at him in awe.

"Yes, sir?"

"You sing pretty good. And I don't give that compliment lightly."

"Oh, thank you, sir." The boy's blue eyes are wide as plates.

"I don't think we're going to put you in the kids' show. I'd like you to sing some gospel numbers with the quartet. Do you play the piano?" The boy swallows deeply. He can't believe what he's hearing.

"No, sir, I don't. We don't have one at our house. You want me to sing with the quartet?"

"I do. Where's your mama? Is she here?" Walter looks around the tent.

"No, sir, she had to work."

"Alright, then. Will you bring her to me tomorrow or whenever she's available?"

"Yes, sir. She doesn't work tomorrow so I'll bring her here."

"That's good, son, thank you." He ruffles the boy's hair and lets him run off. Then, he heads back to the hotel.

******

You've almost finished for the day when you run into Walter in the hallway. He smiles and his eyes do the sparkly thing again.

"Hi honey. Can I talk to you?"

"To me?"

"Yes. Come here." He takes you into the room you just finished cleaning and sits down on the little couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, so you do, just far enough away to still be polite but distant.

"You know I'm the manager of the Chautauqua-"

"You're the manager?"

"I am."

"Oh. You're younger than I expected."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment." All of a sudden his sparkly eyes feel like a subtle manipulation and you recoil from him without thinking. He's the man responsible for the murder business in the last town. "I have a problem and I think you could help me."

"Me?"

"Yes. How would you like to get out of Gilroy?" Your heart flip flops, but you know it's not an option.

"What do you mean?"

"I need a woman to help in the children's tent, someone who knows music. How would you like to come with us?" You can't believe what you're hearing. In a lot of ways it's a dream come true, but you know you can't leave Joey.

"Oh, sir-"

"Walter. Walter Hale."

"Mr. Hale-"

"Walter."

"Sir, as flattered as I am, I can't leave Gilroy."

"Why is that?" You hesitate to tell him, but he needs to know you're serious.

"I can't leave my son."

"You have a son?"

"I do. And I can't just leave him here to go with you."

"Bring him along."

"Oh, I could never. The Chautauqua is no place for a child."

"I grew up in the Chautauqua."

"Right, well, I'm not sure I'd like my son to end up..." You trail off when you realize what you're saying, but his lip curls into a smirk. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. It's fine. But I sure could use your help."

"I can't. I'm sorry." You stand up from the little couch to go back to work. He watches you walk away, trying to think through his next steps. He'll convince you to come with him; he just needs to figure out the right move.

******

The next day, Walter is walking through the grounds making sure everything is running smoothly. He hears a voice behind him.

"Sir!" He turns to see the young boy from yesterday running towards him. He waits for him to get close and then ruffles his hair again.

"What is it, buddy?"

"I brought my mom. She's in the tent." Walter follows him to the children's tent to meet the boy's mother and try to convince her to let him take the boy under his wing. His mother turns when she hears her son and Walter's mouth drops.

"It's you!" You look at him with your eyebrows knit together.

"It's me. What do you want with my son?" Suddenly he realizes that this might be a real uphill battle for him.

"Well, ma'am, I'd like to have him join the Chautauqua as a sort of protégé for me."

"Protégé? For you?"

"Ma'am, I don't know if you know this, but your son is incredibly talented."

"I'm aware. What does that have to do with you?"

"I'd like to take him under my wing a bit: teach him piano and how to harmonize in a quartet." You scoff and look down at Joey. He's your pride and joy, the only thing you have left of your husband, and you're not going to let him go easily.

"Absolutely not. My son will go to college someday. He's not a performer."

"Oh, but he is. I've seen him." You look down at Joey, seemingly trying to decide whether you should take this risk or lock him inside forever. You look back up at Walter.

"Is this just because you need a new story lady?" He raises his eyebrows.

"What? No!"

"You want to pretend like you're taking an interest in my son so I'll come with you, is that it?"

"Ma'am. I took an interest in him before I knew he was your son." Now the boy chimes in. He's excited for this opportunity.

"It's true, mama. He talked to me yesterday after I auditioned." You look back and forth between them and try to imagine what it would be like for your son to grow up and become Walter.

"No. Absolutely not. Come on, Joey." You turn on your heel and push your son in front of you.

"But mama-"

"Ma'am-" You turn back to Walter.

"Thank you for putting these crazy ideas in his head without talking to me first." Then, you grab Joey's hand and walk away quickly. Walter watches you and shakes his head. There are several reasons he'd like you to join the company. The way you look walking away from him is not the least of them.

******

You have to go to work at the hotel every day, so you don't know that Joey is making his way to the Chautauqua grounds after you leave and getting home just before you do. Walter has him scheduled to perform with the quartet on the Friday night two weeks after your first encounter with him. Sometimes you see him in the hallways of the hotel and he nods politely, but doesn't press you any further about Joey performing.

You don't suspect anything until you hear Betty talking to one of the other women in the show as you clean the room across the hall.

"That new boy is very talented. I can't believe we found him in a little town like this. It's too bad his mother won't let him join us long-term. He'd be a great addition to the show." The other girl nods in agreement. "Mr. Hale assures me that he'll be able to convince the mother once he performs. I sure hope he's right."

Your blood boils as you listen to the conversation. He'll be able to convince you, will he? His arrogance is only outweighed by his sliminess. You drop the sheets you were changing and stomp through the hotel looking for him.

He's nowhere to be found. Finally, you go back to Betty and decide to ask. They're not used to the staff approaching them, but Betty used to work in a hotel too, so her shock fades quickly.

"Where is Mr. Hale?"

"Oh, I believe he's in the main performance tent preparing for tonight."

"Just what is the performance tonight?"

"It's that boy with the gospel group. He's so good! You should listen, if you're able to."

"I'll find a way. He's my son." Betty's mouth pops open and you turn and walk away.

******

At the performance tent, you stand in the back and watch as your son practices with the quartet. Walter is there too, playing the piano. You try desperately not to notice how attractive he is with his hands on the keys. You swallow deeply, shake your head, and go back to watching your son. When he sings with the quartet, your mouth drops.

He's incredible.

You knew he was talented, but always in a raw, unrefined kind of way. But now? Now he sounds like a little polished songbird, hitting notes and making runs like nothing you've ever heard before. He hears the harmony instinctively and sings it with grace, blending perfectly with the lower voices. His vibrato is beautiful and you wonder how he learned all of this in two weeks. That's when Walter stops them, stands up from the piano and kneels down in front of Joey. You can't hear what he's saying to him, but Joey is spellbound listening. He nods cooperatively. Then, they sing together.

You inhale sharply when you hear Walter's voice. It sounds like an older, deeper, baritone version of your son's soprano. He's giving instruction as he sings and Joey blends his sound with Walter's perfectly. They sound like they were made to sing together and you absolutely melt. The sincerity on Walter's face as he coaches your son would be impossible to fake. He meant it when he said he wanted to mentor Joey. Tears gather in your eyes and you begin to imagine the possibilities for his future.

You back slowly out of the tent to go home and change. You decide not to interfere with the performance tonight.

******

On stage, Joey is perfect and he absolutely shines. He is a performer. He sings his three songs and then sits down in the front row of the tent as the show continues.

But it's Walter that you can't keep your eyes off of. Every move he makes elicits a physical response from you.

At one point, he looks out to the crowd and catches you biting your bottom lip. He has to work not to laugh when you gasp and blush. Naturally, he spends the rest of the evening teasing you with looks and winks and subtle movements. By the end of the show, you're both so hot and bothered that you almost can't stand it.

As the show concludes and everyone makes their way out of the tent, you stand still, eyes glued to Walter as he talks to people. He knows you're watching him, so the smile he can't suppress is real. He stands with Joey as people compliment them both and they look so fitting there together that you almost would think they were father and son. That damn near kills you too. Finally, Joey sees you and comes bounding towards you to celebrate his success. You give him the biggest hug and tell him all your favorite parts of the show as Walter excuses himself from his conversation and saunters over. He ruffles Joey's hair and leaves his hand on his shoulder.

"Your boy is a hit, ma'am."

"I noticed. Thank you for working with him."

"I wonder if you have some time tonight to negotiate more about whether we make him a permanent member of the Chautauqua."

"I think I can manage that. Can he-" Walter turns and calls to Betty. She walks over cautiously.

"Betty will take him over to the children's tent for the evening, so we can talk privately." He gestures to Betty and she reluctantly takes Joey and walks out of the tent. That leaves just the two of you alone.

"Come over to my office." He puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you to the stage. He sits down on the piano bench and pats the spot beside him for you to sit down too. You do and automatically put your hands on the keys. You haven't played a piano in years.

"Do you play?"

"Mhmm. A little. But not in a long time." You nervously begin the top part of a duet piece that you used to play as a child. He begins the bottom part and you're surprised at how well you play together. You relax a little as you continue and the song comes back from your memory. He watches you as he plays, an almost strange look on his face.

Eventually, you look up at him too, but you're not as practiced, so you fumble the keys when you do.

"Oh, whoops, I-"

But before you can apologize for mixing up the melody, his lips are on yours. Without another thought, you turn your body to face his and the kiss escalates to a fever pitch, your tongues moving wildly as your hands begin to roam. He puts one hand on your hip and the other on your neck and pulls you in close to him while your arms go around his neck. All of the tension from the evening of flirtation comes pouring out of both of you into the kiss.

He turns and lifts you until your bottom is on the keys and he's in between your legs, still pulling you in to kiss him deeply. Then he stands up, lifting you again to place you on top of the grand piano. You notice his erection as he stands there and he gives you a look almost asking for permission to do more than kiss you. You nod and he pushes your dress up over your hips and pulls your bloomers down and off. You've never been with a man that wasn't your husband, so you blush a little at the speed with which he undresses you. He notices the change in your demeanor and looks into your eyes.

"Do you want me to stop?" You swallow and take a deep breath. He looks down at himself and back up at you. "I can-"

"No. Don't stop."

"You're sure, honey?" You grab the front of his jacket and pull him into a passionate kiss. Then, you push his jacket off of his shoulders and kiss his neck. You whisper as you do.

"Don't stop." He grunts and unbuttons his vest as you pull his tie off, your hands trembling with desire. He goes back to kissing you and puts both hands on your ass to pull you in as close to him as you can get from your position on top of the piano. You begin to unbutton his shirt and eventually get it off of him and onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. He uses both hands to lift your dress up over your head and remove your bra. A soft moan escapes his lips as he looks down at your body, naked and sitting on top of the piano. He kisses down your chest, caressing your breast with one hand and licking a slow circle around your other nipple. You whimper as he keeps moving down your body with his mouth, sitting on the piano bench and spreading your thighs to get to your center. He leans forward, putting both hands on your ass, and drags his tongue up your slit to the bundle of nerves at the top. It's been so long since you've had a man touch you like that that it almost takes your breath away. You lean back and he goes to work licking your clit.

"Oh! Walter!" You moan as he moves his tongue on you in circles. He licks you fervently and you feel the coil of your orgasm begin to tighten between your legs. The pleasure of what he's doing with his mouth is exquisite and you cry out again. He pulls back a little and looks up at you from his position between your thighs.

"Honey, I don't wanna stifle you, but we are in a tent." All of a sudden you become very aware of the fact that there are no doors or walls separating you from the rest of the camp. It should scare you, but it has the opposite effect. He notices the way you arch your back and smiles. "Good girl."

He leans into you again and goes back to licking you, sliding his tongue over and around and across your clit. You're right on the edge of your orgasm and he knows it. He sucks on you lightly, backs up and blows on you, and then dives in and licks harder than he has so far and you tumble over the edge, coming harder than you ever have before, the blood rushing from your core out to your fingertips in electric bolts.

"Oh God, Walter." You groan through gritted teeth as you ride the high of your orgasm and he devours you like his life depends on it. When you finally come back down to earth, you push him backwards and slide forward off of the piano into his lap. You kiss him again deeply, tasting your own sweetness on him, and grind against his hardened cock.

"You're gonna make a mess of my pants, honey." He whispers in your ear as you nibble on his earlobe.

"Do you care?"

"No. I really don't."

"That's what I thought." You grind against him again and he whimpers. Then, you back off of him and stand up between him and the piano. He stands up too, pushing the piano bench back away from him. Your hands go to his pants button and you smirk at the wet spot on the front of them. He helps you undo them and then slides them down, kicking his shoes off, as his cock bounces free. You shouldn't be surprised at how beautiful it is, but you are. It's long and straight and you don't hesitate to drop to your knees in front of it, fully intending to worship it with your mouth. He groans and puts his hand on the top of the piano to steady himself as you push his foreskin back and lick a slow circle around the head. You drag your tongue up the bottom of his shaft and then take him fully into your mouth, opening your throat until he hits the back of it.

"Shit, y/n." He moans while you begin to bounce on him. You move your hands around to his ass to hold him still while you slide your mouth up and down. You push him as deep as he'll go again and bury your nose in the soft patch of hair at the base of him. He makes some kind of guttural grunt and then grabs your hair, pulling gently to get you to back off of him. As you stand back up, he turns you around to face the piano and kisses your shoulder.

"I'm sorry, honey, I wasn't ready to finish yet." He lines himself up with you from behind and teases your entrance with his tip. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes, Walter, oh!" He pushes into you from behind, filling you slowly. You feel every inch of him as your pussy stretches to accommodate his size. He begins to move in and out of you, picking up a steady rhythm.

"Good girl. You like this?" He asks as he pounds you from behind, holding your hips with both hands while you grasp at the top of the piano.

"God, yes, don't stop!"

"You like it when I fuck you hard like this?"

"Yes, fuck, Walter!" You hit the keys as he slams into you and it makes a kind of atonal music to go along with the sound of your skin slapping together rhythmically. Everyone outside the tent knows exactly what's going on inside and you don't even care. With his cock buried so deep inside you, the only thing you can think about is how close you are to coming again.

He pulls out of you without warning and flips you around to face him, pushing back into you quickly.

"Join the Chautauqua. Come with me. Stay with me." He says it between kisses as he fucks you much more gently now.

"Is that what this is all about?"

"No. I just can't let you go after this." You look into his eyes and he looks into yours. You can tell he's on the brink of his climax, just like you are. His hair drips with sweat and he might be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

"Yes. Okay. I'll come... with... you." As you say it he groans loudly and fills you with warmth and you fall head first into a full body wave of pleasure. He pumps a couple more times weakly while you shudder and tremble with ecstasy. You both breathe heavily as he presses his forehead to yours.

"Did you mean that?"

"Yes. I did." He slides out and falls backwards onto the piano bench, pulling you down into his lap. He kisses you again deeply and then rests his head on your shoulder with his arms around your waist.

"Welcome to the Chautauqua."

"Are you my boss now?"

"Honey, I'll be anything you want me to be, as long as you don't leave me."

"Leave you or the company?"

"Both. But mainly me." He kisses your shoulder and gives you a sly look. You're still not sure if this was about you or the Chautauqua, but you're willing to join him on the road and find out. This is your chance to get out of this town and see what the world has to offer. He's just icing on the cake. Delicious, sweet, and probably bad for you, but definitely worth it in the end. If anyone has anything to say about it, well, they can clean up their own backyard.

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @rjmartin11 @aliypop @your-nanas-house @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @lookingforrainbows @joshuntildawn13 @tacozebra051 @dkayfixates @deniseinmn @18lkpeters @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @pebbles403 @from-memphis-with-love @elvisalltheway101 @deltafalax

[sneezingcow]

This Week's Tent Show Radio: Pickin' on Rock

This Week's Tent Show Radio: Pickin' on Rock

Check out Mike (Facebook / Instagram / Twitter) hosting Tent Show Radio (Twitter: @BigBlueTent). This week’s episode features Big Top Chautauqua’s famed house band, the Blue Canvas Orchestra. Take a classic rock song, add the Blue Canvas Orchestra, and the result is something that is sure to move an audience. Led by Molly Otis & Ed Willett, Pickin’ on Rock debuted at the tent in the summer of…

[blakehoena]

#whatimreadingnow … I have so many books on my to-read pile waiting for the appropriate time for me to open them, and being on the cusp of a new year seems the right moment to crack the cover of Last of the Better Days Ahead by one of my favorite #minnesotamusicians, @charlie.parr. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen Charlie play, from the @turfclubmn to small venues throughout MN. But I have fond memories of that first time I saw him take the stage. It was back 10+ years and over in Bayfield, WI, at Big Top Chautauqua. I was there to see Greg Brown. I had no clue who the opening act was, so when this dude with a scruffy beard, blue jean overalls, and a beat-up baseball cap walked onto the stage, I thought he was just a stagehand checking on things. The silence that washed over the audience at that moment hinted at the musical treat I was about to experience. I’ve been a fan since, and if his book is half as good as some of his songs, then it’ll be a damn fine read. And if plans work out, he’s got a residency at the Turf Club this January. Hopefully I can make that a countless + 1 times I’ve seen him play. https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm2JFCZp73V/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[nwbeerguide]

Southern Tier Brewing announces 2X. A series of amped up india pale ales starting with 2XIPA, 2XHAZE, & 2XCITRUS.

Press Release

LAKEWOOD, NY – Southern Tier Brewing Company® is doubling down on high-octane IPAs. After years of cult-fandom for iconic craft beer 2XIPA®, the brewery’s latest innovation is all-in on “2X,” unleashing a new platform called The 2X Factor. Combining Southern Tier’s relentless pursuit for over-the-top flavor with its passionate approach to craft beverage, The 2X Factor will be launched with three new Double IPAs, all with bold, new artwork under The 2X Factor banner including a reenergized look for 2XIPA. To celebrate the launch, Southern Tier will kick-off a campaign encouraging fans to “Find Your 2X Factor.”  The campaign will connect with fans on social media, commemorate The 2X Factor banner illustrated on packaging with a custom-made felt banner created by fellow Western New York manufacturer Oxford Pennant, and partner with influencers who themselves have the 2X Factor.

Innovation is led by the remarkable 2XHAZE™, an 8.2% ABV Hazy Juicy Double IPA that embodies the 2X factor spirit that Southern Tier brews with each day at its expansive craft beverage site in the heart of the beautiful Chautauqua Lake region of New York. 2XHAZE gets its delicious, juicy, tropical flavor from a rigorous approach to brewing the ever-popular IPA style by utilizing three-times the hops, dry-hopped over an extended schedule versus a standard IPA.

Joining 2XHAZE in The 2X Factor Series are 2XCITRUS, an orange and grapefruit fruited Double IPA and 2XPERIMENTAL, a dank and fresh west-coast style IPA that features experimental hops from Hop Breeding Company hand-picked by Southern Tier’s VP of Operations Matt Dunn at the most recent hop harvest in the Pacific Northwest. All three beers join 2XIPA to create a first-of-its-kind Double IPA variety pack with four different 8.2% ABV IPAs, three of each, available all in one pack called The 2X Factor Double IPA Mixed Pack. The 2X Factor Series is sure to appeal to beer drinkers overwhelming interest in the range and depth of flavor that the IPA style has to offer from hazy, juicy, fruity, floral, dank and beyond.

“Our goal has been the same since we built our first production facility and taproom in 2002 – we want to bring big flavor and unique styles to anyone looking for a great beverage,” said Founder Phin DeMink. “Our door is always open, and we want folks to know, if you’re up for something really, really special whether it’s an extreme Double IPA, a unique Pumpkin beer or even Smoked Bourbon or Cinnamon Candy Apple Whiskey, we are going to put in the extra work and sweat in R&D and operations to make those available. That’s what drives us and that’s the 2X factor.”

The 2X Factor Series including the all-new 2XHAZE and The 2X Factor Mixed Pack are now available in cans and on draft at select outlets where craft beer is sold and poured throughout the east-coast including Southern Tier Taprooms in Lakewood, NY, Buffalo, NY, Pittsburgh, PA, Cleveland, OH and Charlotte, NC. For more information on The 2X Factor and to locate a shop near you, visit STBCbeer.com. Follow Southern Tier for the latest news, alerts, and experiences on social media @STBCbeer.

About Southern Tier Brewing Company

After several years of professional brewery experience in Chicago, founders Phineas and Sara DeMink had a vision of bringing craft beers to a region rich in brewing heritage, but devoid of production breweries. Southern Tier Brewing Company® opened in 2002 in the lakeside town of Lakewood, New York, and has become a top craft beverage company in the United States. Known for its big flavor and high quality, Southern Tier is the maker of America’s most beloved Pumpkin beer, Pumking®, and Overpack’d®, one of the most popular craft beer variety packs in the United States. Across the street from Southern Tier’s brewery is Southern Tier Distilling Company where it produces ready-to-drink Canned Cocktails and high-proof Spirits including Bourbon, Whiskey, Vodka and Gin. In 2014, Southern Tier joined the Artisanal Brewing Company family, which has since added Victory Brewing Company (Downingtown, PA), Sixpoint Brewery (Brooklyn, NY) and Bold Rock Hard Cider (Nellysford, VA) to its portfolio. Southern Tier taproom locations provide a one-of-kind craft beer experience and are located in Lakewood as well as in Buffalo, NY, Pittsburgh, PA Cleveland, OH and Charlotte, NC.

[slippinmickeys]

The Dreaming Tree (2/4)

...A broom is drearily sweeping

Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life

Somewhere a queen is weeping

Somewhere a king has no wife

And the wind, it cries Mary...

Harbor Springs, Michigan

July 1, 1999

9:02am

A local DNR conservation officer had agreed to meet her at the site first thing the next morning, but had not yet arrived when Scully parked the rental sedan under the Coming Soon! development sign. She had dropped off Mulder at the local library before pulling out a pair of hiking boots from the backseat and swapping them out with her heels. Thus outfitted, she had driven north.

Despite dressing more sensibly for her venture, she still stepped carefully over the rutted, muddy two track that led into the woods, the pungent smell of humus a welcome assault on her nose. She decided to look around on her own, heading for the area where the various Dreamers had lunched the week prior.

The sun was midway through the morning sky, and the poplar leaves twisted in a cool breeze; the underside of them lighter than the tops, like the belly of a sunfish. Construction work had shut down for a couple of hours to accommodate her investigation.

The forest was teeming, fecund, half-choked with chlorophyll, the air filled with the high whine of katydids screaming at her from the canopy. She felt like she had stepped into another epoch; prehistoric and riotous with life.

The big equipment had churned a lot of the forest floor into a chunky, muddy mess, and her hope of finding evidence -- if there was any to be found -- seemed about as likely as her mother converting to Buddhism. It probably wasn’t worth setting up a grid.

Her thoughts drifted to Mulder as she stepped over trout lily and larch. What would he find that she might miss? His intuition was otherworldly, and even after seven years -- especially after seven years -- he could make connections she hadn’t ever considered. And he’d never once looked down on her for it. He’d never once treated her as anything less than an equal. If anything, he put her on a pedestal she didn’t feel she deserved. He was erudite and occasionally conscientious. He loved her with a fierceness she didn’t dare contemplate.

Staring at the weathered heart and initials carved into it, she decided to start at the pine tree and work her way out, hoping the conservation officer would arrive soon and perhaps let her know what she was looking for. Scully reached out a hand and touched the bark of the tree -- it was warm, though the trunk had been in the shade. It gave off a pleasant, earthy scent, and she pulled her hand back, tapping her fingers together, sticky with sap.

She heard something behind her and turned, seeing a tall brunette in a greyish green uniform making her way toward Scully through the bracken. Her hair was pulled up tightly into a low bun, giving her a severe look, but she wore a smile and had a pleasant mien. The woman raised a friendly hand.

“You Special Agent Scully?” she called out.

“I am,” Scully called back, returning the smile and stepping forward.

“I’m Polaski,” the officer said, shaking Scully’s hand as she stepped over a fallen branch. “I have to say it’s refreshing to find you’re a woman.”

“Likewise,” Scully said. The woman took a moment to look around the forest and construction site.

“Geez,” Polaski said, “I like the woods better when they stay woods.” She straightened. “So how did you need my assistance? My sergeant only told me that the FBI was working a case and needed a local flora/fauna expert. He said he didn’t know what the case was.”

Scully wasn’t sure she did either.

“We’ve got some victims experiencing… something akin to hallucinations. The only thing the victims have in common is their presence at this site. The only time all the victims were in the same place was when they all shared a meal in this general area. I was hoping you might assist me in identifying any possible naturally occurring hallucinogens or flora containing psychotropic elements. Are there any you’re aware of that grow locally?”

Polaski nodded, the leather of her utility belt creaking as she leaned back contemplatively.

“Off the top of my head… there’s a couple of mushrooms: fly agaric, big laughing gym. Then there’s unripe red mulberries, though it doesn’t affect everyone the same. And I’ve known some old timers who’ve used sassafras.”

“In what way?” Scully asked.

“Safrole,” Polaski answered, “the oil from the sassafras root can be used to make... whatcha call it, MDA.”

“Methylenedioxyamphetamine?”

Polaski nodded. “Makes better root beer, you ask me.”

“Would you be able to survey the area with me, let me know if you see any of the flora you mentioned?”

“Let’s get to it,” Polaski suggested.

They made their way in concentric circles, the conservation officer occasionally pointing out this or that, none of which were what they were looking for. By the time they’d gotten to the area around the entrance of the site, the sun was at midday high and they hadn’t found a thing.

“Can you explain to me the nature of the hallucinations?” Polanski finally asked.

Scully felt Mulder’s own words form within the confines of her mouth and smiled at the intrusion. What could she tell this woman without sounding crazy?

“The victims appear to be, at the very least, sharing dreams. With physical ramifications.”

“Such as?” Polaski asked, though her tone was of open curiosity rather than the doubtful disdain Scully had been half expecting. With only a momentary pause, Scully opened up to her, giving her some of the stranger details of the case.

“Well, shit,” Polaski said, and Scully wasn’t sure if there had yet been a more succinct reaction to the case.

“Pretty much.”

Polaski leaned against a yellow articulated dump truck that was parked just within the tree line off the highway.

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Agent Scully,” she said.

“On the contrary, you were a tremendous help, Officer Polaski, I thank you.”

“This case,” Polaski hedged, “sounds pretty odd. You want me to take a look at state-wide records, see if I can pull anything with similar overtones?”

“If you’re offering, I’ll accept, but are you sure you’ve got the time?”

“Beats getting mosquito bites while busting anglers without a license. Let me take the afternoon, see what I can find.”

With that, Polaski pushed off the Caterpillar and nodded once at Scully, who followed her back to their respective vehicles and pointed her internal compass toward Mulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Best Western Motel

Petoskey, Michigan

11:23am

From the dozen or so phone calls that he’d made, it seemed the school had been run by nuns from the Holy Childhood sect, which had been a part of the Diocese of Gaylord, a town forty minutes southeast. However, when Mulder called the Diocese of Gaylord, which had been established in 1971, he was redirected to the Diocese of Grand Rapids, a further three hours downstate because it had been overseeing Holy Childhood before ‘71. School records seemed to be scattered to the four winds, though an older secretary in Gaylord told Mulder in confidence that she remembered the Mother Superior had been close with the priest at the St. Francis Xavier church the next town over -- otherwise, school records would be “forthcoming,” whatever that meant.

Mulder brought a hand to his temple as he relayed this information to Scully.

“Any luck in the woods?” he asked.

“No,” Scully said, “though the conservation officer I worked with offered to look through state cases for anything similar. Otherwise, we got bupkis.”

“Not quite bupkis,” Mulder said, handing her a sheet of paper. “I went through old newspaper articles and was able to track down some old pictures of students from the school. Those from the last thirty years had some names included on the captions and I was able to cross reference the names with records from the local Secretary of State office. This is a list of former students I was able to track down that are still local.”

Scully looked over the list.

“There’s not many,” she said, looking up at him. There were only three.

It was indeed a pitifully small number for the hours of work he’d put in. If he never sat in front of another microfiche machine, he might die happy.

“There’s not. But it’s a place to start.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I figure we can interview some former students and maybe get more insight into the area. Up until two months ago, the only thing up there was the school. Maybe we’ll find a connection.”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” she said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Bay View Inn,

Harbor Springs, Michigan

1:34pm

They found Argyle Petoskey at his job, waiting tables at an upscale inn and restaurant that had been converted from a Victorian mansion in one of the chautauquas of Harbor Springs. The day was turning hot; Mulder had left his jacket in the car, and even Scully had opted to wear only a blouse on top, changing from her hiking gear back into her pencil skirt and heels in the library bathroom.

Argyle’s manager pointed them out back, where they found him leaning against the wall of the loading dock smoking a cigarette, dressed in a restaurant uniform version of a tuxedo, the pre-tied bowtie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar. When they introduced themselves, he flicked the cigarette off into a puddle and jumped down to greet them, leaking smoke from his mouth.

“What’s this about?”

“We’re looking into the Holy Childhood school,” Mulder said, assessing the man before him. He had short, dark hair and intense brown eyes and what Mulder supposed passed for a mustache. Argyle’s eyebrows rose at this.

“You mean the federal government is actually looking into the shit that happened at Indian schools?”

Mulder, interest piqued, made a mental note to further investigate and simply said, “Can you tell us about your experiences there?”

Argyle took a breath and blew it out, then fished a foil-wrapped stick of wintergreen gum from his pocket and shoved it in his mouth.

“The school was actually pretty good for me,” he shrugged, “I didn’t come from the most stable home. I got my diploma, kept my nose clean. And I, uh, wasn’t on the receiving end of some of the bad shit that went down.”

“Abuse?” Scully finally spoke up.

Argyle gave her a once-over, his eyes lingering at her cross necklace.

“Like I said, not to me. But I did know some people it probably happened to.”

Mulder nodded. “What was it like when you were there? How many kids?”

“Not many when I was there. I graduated in ‘82 right before they shut it down. After ‘78, a lot of Native families stopped sending their kids. But it was okay. Taught me how to play sports, kept me out of trouble.” He hunched up a shoulder. “Kept me away from my dad’s belt. I made a lot of friends.”

“I didn’t see any playing fields up there, where did you guys practice your sports?” Mulder asked.

“Oh, we’d play lacrosse on the front lawn in front of the school until the nuns yelled, but otherwise the local high school let us use their gym and fields and stuff.”

Argyle looked over his shoulder at the door.

“What about out past the school? Looks like the school owned a lot of the land up there. Anyone ever experience anything strange out in the forest?” Scully asked.

“Like love by the dashboard light?” Argyle chuckled. “No, we didn’t go out in those woods. All the kids said it was haunted. We stayed away.”

“Haunted?” Mulder asked, “by whom?”

“A dead student? Some hunter? An old tribal chief? Your guess is as good as mine. I heard ‘em all. Probably an urban legend. I bet every boarding school has one. Listen, are we almost done here? My shift is about to start.”

“Sure,” Mulder said, handing him a business card, “you mind giving us a list of some of your friends from the school? You don’t need to do it right now.”

“And get blamed for sending the Feds to their door? Fat chance. Listen,” he said, jumping back up onto the loading dock, and tucking the card into a back pocket,  “I’ll put the word out. You staying locally?”

Mulder nodded. “The Best Western on US-31.”

Argyle nodded back, waved. “Good luck.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Petoskey, Michigan

4:56pm

The second student on their list -- Stan Skippergosh -- told them roughly the same thing that Argyle Petoskey had, only in a far less succinct way. It was nearing 5:00pm by the time they headed toward the house of the last student on their list.

The road that led out of town turned country at a stop light: to the west toward the lake were businesses and doctors’ offices, churches and schools, but past the stop light it was all pasture. The road dipped with the countryside, and then climbed up steeply, the banks on either side covered in field grass and Queen Anne’s Lace, the air thick with the buzz of insects and the rich tang of grass blades leeching oxygen. It was mostly farmland with the occasional suburban house, small yards carved out of fields and dotted with swingsets and boxes of geraniums.

Leonard Naganashe lived past the fields and farmland, past where the forest began, and Scully’s Mapquest printout was not quite cutting it -- they had to double back twice and ended up finding his road on their own. The driveway wound like a river through the trees, fresh gravel popping under their tires, and Mulder only noticed the tops of the trees when Scully pointed them out.

“Mulder,” Scully said, leaning forward and squinting through the windshield, “look at the canopy.”

At first it was only one or two trees, the tops of which had been blown off and charred, but as they approached the house it seemed as though nearly all the tall trees surrounding the house were similarly affected, a few with the tops blown off, but many, more of them affected than not, with long perpendicular lines scarring their trunks. Hemlock or birch, beech or maple, none were spared.

The house, in a small clearing at the end of the drive, was a quaint one-story ranch that had simple metal finials attached to all four corners. Lightning rods. Mulder flashed on Darin Peter Oswald and gave Scully a significant look over the console.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Mulder said, throwing the sedan into park and cutting the engine.

The heat hit them like a force when they stepped out of the air conditioned confines of the car, the humidity as thick as bisque. Mulder pulled uncomfortably at his tie as they stepped up onto the landing and pushed the doorbell. When no sound came from inside the house, Scully gave the door two sharp raps. A moment later, a woman appeared, her face wearing a look of wary apprehension. She spoke through the screen door, but did not open it.

“What do you want?” she inquired.

“Is this the residence of Leonard Naganashe?” Scully ventured.

“Who’s asking?”

Mulder and Scully both pulled out their badges, holding them up briefly at face-level.

“What’s he done?” the woman asked.

“Nothing,” Mulder said, repocketing his badge. “Leonard attended the Holy Childhood Boarding School in Harbor Springs. We’re trying to get some background. He’s one of the few former students that still lives in the area.”

The woman snorted. “Nothing good ever came from that school. Leonard included,” she replied. “I should know.”

“Did you attend the school as well, ma’am?” Scully queried from beside Mulder’s elbow.

The woman didn’t answer at first, and Mulder could see her face cloud over.

“I graduated in ‘82,” she finally said.

“What’s your name?” Mulder asked.

“Mary.”

“Can we talk to you about the school?” he requested.

“No,” Mary said curtly. “Leonard took off about a month ago. You find him, you tell him I got papers for him to sign.”

With that, the door closed in their faces.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Best Western Motel

Petoskey, Michigan

7:23pm

They were north of the 45th Parallel -- closer to the north pole than the equator and the summer days seem to last forever -- it was light before 5:00, it was dark after 10:00. The sun shone on and on.

Their hotel was neither the worst nor the best they’d ever stayed in -- just off the highway, but tucked back into the trees of a cedar swamp, each room opened out onto the small parking lot with suburban woods beyond it. Their respective rooms were on either end of the long row, and they’d set up camp in Scully’s, at the far end away from the motel office. Mulder closed the door on the damp cedar brine and kicked off his shoes.

The A/C unit rattled in the window but was cooling the room admirably. It was late and Scully was on her second piece of pizza after realizing that she’d had nothing all day but a stale mini bagel from the motel’s ‘continental’ spread and a hot slug of bad coffee she’d made from the little pot on the small vanity outside her bathroom.

“Are you still thinking this is some kind of mass hallucination?” Mulder asked her around a mouthful of sausage and pepper.

She could tell he was feeling her out, gauging her hostility toward his more outlandish theories.

“I don’t know what to think, Mulder,” she said. “The details of this case, so far as we have uncovered them, leave a lot more questions than answers.”

“I will give you that.” He sighed, wiped his mouth, crumpled up the napkin and threw it in a perfect arc into the trash can. She gave him the ghost of an impressed smile.

“You think it’s a haunting of some sort?” she walked her own napkin, and the flimsy paper plate the pizzeria had given them, over to the trash can and deposited them sensibly.

He gave a mock shiver. “Don’t get me too excited Scully, we’re in the same motel room after hours.”

She wondered briefly what he would do if she walked over to the chair he was sitting in and straddled his lap. If she wrapped his tie twice around her fist and pulled his generous mouth to hers. Would his eyes be startled? Would they glaze over in lust?

Her indecorous fantasy was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She answered it.

“Agent Scully, this is Officer Polaski,” said the voice on the other end, “I’m sorry to call so late, but I think I may have something for you.” Scully waved Mulder over and he sat next to her, the mattress dipping below his weight and pushing her into his side. She tilted the phone so they could both hear. “It’s a pretty old case -- from the 50s -- and some of the details of the case notes have been lost over time, but I found a record of an arrest in the woods where you and I were today.”

“Definitely not too late,” Scully reassured her. “What was the charge?”  

“Murder,” Polaski said, and Scully tilted her head slightly to find Mulder’s eyes. “You want me to fax it over?” Polaski went on.

Mulder rose and hurried over to the dresser where a pad of motel stationery sat, the phone and fax numbers at the bottom.

“Please,” Scully said, and then rattled off the number as Mulder held it up for her.

“It’s on its way,” Polaski told her, and Mulder was already slipping on his shoes.

“Be right back,” he said after Scully had thanked her and disconnected, and he trotted out the door toward the motel office.

He was back a few minutes later, shuffling through a few leaves of paper that wafted the smell of hot toner in her direction. “Polaski was right,” he said, handing her a couple, “this is pretty thin.”

They both sat on her bed and traded sheets of paper, reading through the case file.

Franklin Henry Donaughy had been arrested while camping in the woods not far from the Holy Childhood Indian School on the night of November 14, 1952, by two Emmet County Sheriff deputies. His wife, Denise Donaughy, aged 37, had been found dead -- from a gunshot wound to the chest -- in their home in Harrison Township, Michigan (a town located three hours to the south, Scully discovered after a quick map consult and a brief mental calculation). Franklin had claimed to have been hunting and camping up north for the four days beforehand and had no part in her killing, or so he said to the sheriff deputies. There were several pages missing from the file, it appeared, particularly those of Franklin Donaughy’s statements to police.

Mulder handed Scully the coroner’s report, which she looked over.

“This is odd,” she noted, after a moment, and handed the paper back to Mulder. “It says here that the body was discovered sitting up in a lounge chair in their living room under a blanket, next to a switched on radio. There was no blood spray discovered at the scene, but the body had both an entry and exit wound, so they assumed she’d been killed at a different location and then placed in the living room.” She leaned closer to him, pointed to the page. “But, Mulder, the recorded amount of blood that seeped into the chair was almost four liters. That’s nearly all the blood a body has--”

“--So she couldn’t have been killed at a different location and then moved,” Mulder concluded.

“Exactly, it makes no sense.”

“What else does it say?” he asked.

“Not much,” she said, frustrated, “it’s incomplete.”

Mulder blew out a raspberry and shoved his palm tiredly into his eye socket.

“I’ll call the Sheriff’s office tomorrow and see if they have a more complete record. Barring that I can always swim again with the microfiche, see what the local papers said in ‘52.”

“I’ll help,” she smiled at him and then shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Let’s get some sleep for now, huh?”

He leaned his arm onto hers for a moment and she saw a glimmer of something brewing in his chlorite eyes. A moment later he turned away and then stood from the bed.

“We should,” he agreed, and made his way to the door, throwing her one last glance before closing it softly behind him.

She felt as though she had barely closed her eyes when there was a pounding on the same door. She looked at the glow of the alarm clock next to the bed. It was nearly 1:30 a.m.

She threw open the door to find Mulder threading the tie he’d worn earlier in the day back through the collar of a dress shirt.

“Hank Poquette just called me,” he said. “He found Moira in their bed, unresponsive.”

“Did he call 911?” Scully asked on a hop of adrenaline.

“Paramedics are on their way,” Mulder said, already moving back in the direction of his own room, “I’ll meet you at the car in five.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Cross Village, Michigan

2:40am

The forest around the Poquette property was awash in blue and red light as Mulder and Scully drove up the winding driveway, the house itself lit up with the headlights and search beams of several police cruisers. Mulder pulled in behind one and killed the engine.

“This doesn’t look good,” he said to Scully, who remained quiet, her face grim.

The Poquette’s black dog was whining from its chained position beside the tree, its eyes never once leaving the house as they walked past. EMTs exited the house pushing a stretcher just as Mulder and Scully got to the bottom of the porch steps -- a person laid out beneath a sheet that was pulled over their face.

The agents backed away to let the paramedics pass and shared a look. When they got to the front door, they were met by a confused young sheriff’s deputy who blanched at their IDs. He called over his superior who appeared to be the Sheriff himself, with whom Mulder shook hands. Scully stood back slightly, her hands crossed in front of her.

Hank Poquette sat at the counter in his kitchen, staring blankly ahead, head in his hands.

After Mulder explained -- with as few details as possible -- what they were doing in the area and at the Poquette house, the Sheriff agreed to let them have a few minutes with Hank before they took him into the station to get his statement.

The deputies migrated to the far end of the living room by the door before Mulder spoke quietly to Hank, Scully keeping close at Mulder’s elbow.

“What happened tonight?” Mulder coaxed, as kindly as he could.

Hank didn’t look at either of them; his eyes glassy.

“I had a dream,” he said blankly. “When I woke up… I found her like that. Next to me.”

“What happened in your dream, Hank?” Mulder asked.

Hank finally looked up, a deep groove etched between his eyebrows. He took a shallow breath.

“She died.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Best Western Motel

Petoskey, Michigan

July 2, 1999

7:30am

Scully was dressed and had just unwrapped the towel from her freshly shampooed hair when she heard Mulder at her door. They had left a nearly catatonic Hank Poquette at the local police station at 4:30 a.m., and Scully, bleary-eyed with barely any sleep, had stumbled into the shower thirty minutes earlier.

Hank had said very little when deputies questioned him, simply laying out the timeline of he and Moira’s evening (dinner at a local bar with friends and a 10:00 p.m. bedtime) and had told them that he’d woken to find Moira in bed next to him, unresponsive. It wasn’t until he was in the small interrogation room alone with Mulder and Scully and had a hot cup of coffee in front of him that he’d told them both his dream: she’d fallen from a tall building while he was running to catch her.

“I always have dark dreams,” he’d said cryptically to Scully before they left, his eyes haunted. The Sheriff had mentioned that they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him and that he would be released later in the day.

Mulder moved into her room and tossed a newspaper onto Scully’s unmade bed.

“Interesting entertainment article got picked up by the local paper,” he said, nodding to the periodical. “Page four.”

Scully set down the hairbrush she’d been using on her wet hair and picked up the paper.

July 1, 1999

by Megan McCullough, AP

TOM CRUISE’S DISAPPEARING ACT

An impressive PR stunt was successfully pulled off last night at the premiere of the new Warner Bros. tentpole ‘The Magician.’

Star Tom Cruise was walking the red carpet in front of the Bruin Theater in Westwood when he vanished, ostensibly into thin air. The stunt was captured on film by the press and fans alike, who said Cruise was glad-handing and giving autographs to the fans along the velvet rope when he disappeared.

“He was standing in front of me one second and gone the next,” said fan and witness Amy Michelson, “I couldn’t believe it. We were all kind of freaked out and scared for Tom but then he came back about twenty minutes later.” Witnesses say the star reappeared at the exact spot he had disappeared from about a half an hour later, startling studio and security personnel who had surrounded the area. “He looked totally shell shocked when he reappeared,” Michelson went on, “and he had smears of lipstick all over his mouth. I’m not sure where he went, but I wish it had been with me!”

Sources close to Cruise say that the star was surprised and upset by what they refer to as an ‘uncontracted and unsafe stunt’ and has been looking into lawsuits aimed at Warner Bros. as well as ‘The Magician’s’ executive producer David Copperfield.

When initially asked for comment minutes after the incident, the studio was close-lipped. Press inquiries as to why police were called to the scene in Westwood immediately following the disappearance were chalked up to “miscommunication.”

As of this morning, the studio seems to have changed its tune and released the following statement:

“We at Warner Bros. are always happy to work with Mr. Cruise, and are very proud of ‘The Magician.’ We hope audiences will go to theaters to see it before it, too, disappears!”

Scully looked up at Mulder.

“You don’t think…”

“Lindsey Conrad is a Dreamer, and you saw the posters in her kitchen.”

“Jesus, Mulder.”

“We need to stop this thing Scully. What if one of these people dreams of the President dying? What if some foreign government figures out what’s going on up here and starts using these people for assassinations or -- hell, what if our government does?”

His hair was sticking up in places as though he’d been running his hands through it. Scully looked up at him. “What is ‘this thing,’ Mulder? What the hell are we dealing with here?”

“Something is pulling people into the dreams of others, Scully. Whether you believe it or not. And whatever the mechanism is -- we need to find out what it is, how it works, and how to stop it.”

The explanation Mulder was pushing could not possibly be true. Could it? She stayed mute and could see the color rise in his cheeks.

“People’s lives are at stake Scully,” he said darkly.

She felt anger building inside as well but pushed it back down.

“Maybe we’ll find something in Moira’s autopsy,” she finally said.

Mulder nodded, suddenly looking as tired as she felt.

“I’m going to head back to the library while you’re slicing and dicing -- see what I can turn up on this hunter case Polaski sent us.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Emmet County Morgue

Northern Michigan Regional Hospital

Petoskey, Michigan

9:34am

The county medical examiner was as near to retirement as any she’d ever met. He’d reached the stage of male aging where the hair on his forehead receded, only to grow wildly out of his ears. His fingernails had yellowed and ridged and his eyebrows seemed to crawl across his forehead like hairy grey caterpillars. Nevertheless, he was friendly and polite, if a bit hard of hearing.

“Edward Farrugia,” he said, extending a hand over the body of Moira Poquette. Scully shook it firmly, and found the skin of his palm warm and dry. She’d shaken a lot of ME’s hands in the subterranean dark of various morgues, and found many to be roughly the same texture and temperature as their charges.

“Dana Scully,” she said. “Did you receive the police report from the Sheriff’s office?”

“I did,” Dr. Farrugia informed her, “though I didn’t look at it -- I was just about to. I like to do my initial exam without knowing any of the details. Start from scratch. No preconceived notions to bring into it.”

Scully nodded. She liked that.

“So you’ve already looked at the body?” she asked. The EMTs had left with Moira’s body before she got a chance to see it herself.

“Just an initial visual exam. I’d be happy to share my thoughts,” he said.

“Let me scrub up and we can go over it together?”

He smiled at her and nodded, then headed back into his office while she found the small locker room nearby to scrub in and change. There was a hot pot of coffee on a sideboard table in the locker room itself and she threw back several large, hasty sips.

When she walked back in ten minutes later, she found the Medical Examiner in his office staring at his desk, his face darkly set. He had the police report in his hand. She cleared her throat and he looked up.

“Are you ready to get started?” she asked politely.

“I am,” he said, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But Dr. Scully… Nothing here adds up.”

“How so?” Scully asked.

Dr. Farrugia glanced toward the examination room where Moira Poquette’s body rested under a sheet. He held up the copy of the police report.  

“From what it says here, this woman went out to dinner last night with her husband and some friends, went home, went to bed and her husband found her unresponsive around midnight. There were multiple witnesses at the bar placing her there not more than two hours before her death. So she eats, goes home, gets in bed. That timetable indicates her death was likely caused by heart attack, stroke, aneurysm -- I’m sure I don’t need to list them all for you,” he went on, “you’re an expert.”

She nodded.

“Agent Scully, this woman died from a fall,” he said. “A pretty big one.”

She walked into the exam room and moved to the table before he’d even finished talking, peeling back the sheet covering Moira Poquette’s body. She heard Dr. Farrugia shuffle in behind her as she stared down in disbelief.

There was no blood, except for a small trickle from a clearly fractured skull. On her torso, her skin had split to the length of about ten or fifteen centimeters right above the hip bone, and a quantity of her small intestine was hanging out from the laceration. They were textbook injuries sustained from a fall of eighty to a hundred feet.

“This is…” she started to say, her tone one of disbelief.

“Yes,” Dr. Farrugia agreed. Their eyes met over the body and he moved to join her on the opposite side.

“Shall we see what we find on the inside?” she asked him after several moments.

“Let’s.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

The Carnegie Library

Petoskey, Michigan

3:30pm

Scully found Mulder beyond the stacks. The Carnegie Library was old, stately, a sturdy box-like structure with stone pillars in front, built with money endowed from Andrew Carnegie himself. Scully had to go to the back of the building and down a set of stairs to the basement, where she found Mulder sitting at a tabletop surrounded by rolls of microfiche, glasses perched on his nose, a screen flickering rapidly in front of him.

“Martha?” he said, as he heard her steps approach, “Let’s go another month or two ahead, see if we can find some articles from the trial.”

He turned when she touched his shoulder, his face blossoming into pleased surprise when he saw it was her.

“Hey,” he said, smiling, whatever slight animosity he’d been feeling towards her earlier in the morning dissipating into the air. “Sorry, I thought you were the librarian who’s been helping me out.”

At this, said librarian came around a corner, a small basket filled with boxes of microfiche rolls slung over her elbow. She was likely around seventy, with bright white hair cut into a fluffy bob, symmetrically cut bangs framing her forehead. She looked at Scully expectantly.

“Can I help you?” she asked Scully.

“Martha, this is the woman I told you about: my partner, Agent Scully,” Mulder said.

She gave Scully a quick up and down.

“Well,” she said, “it’s nice to meet you, Agent Scully. I must say, when pressed, Agent Mulder conceded that you were quite lovely, but I now see why he turned so coy. My dear, you’re a vision.”

Scully felt her cheeks color.

“Martha is a shameless flirt,” Mulder said, his eyes on the tabletop.

“And a matchmaker,” Martha said to Scully, winking.

Mulder pointedly changed the subject, “Do you have late February and early March?”

“Right here,” Martha said, unslinging the basket from her elbow and passing it over to Mulder. She grabbed a nearby chair and pushed it in next to Mulder’s own. “Have a seat, love.”

Scully took the proffered chair and sat, giving Mulder a look as the woman left them on a whirl of white hair, leaving the faintest trace of Chanel No. 5 in her wake.  

“You made a friend,” Scully said, teasing.

“Yeah, well, I spent a week here yesterday morning,” he replied. “How was the autopsy?”

“Illuminating.”

“Yeah?” he said, turning to her in full, “Tell me.”

She sighed. “Three guesses.”

“She died from a fall,” Mulder said, a little reverence in his voice.

Scully nodded. “That’s what the body says.”

Mulder let out a long, low whistle. “Do you believe me now?” he asked, running his thumb along his jaw bone. It took her a moment to look away.

“I’m closer to believing,” she acknowledged.

“I guess I’ll take it,” he said after a moment.

“Have you talked to Hank?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Sheriff drove him home this morning. I’ll head out there when we’re done here and check on him.”

“Hopefully he’ll get some sleep,” Scully said.

“Hopefully he won’t,” Mulder said significantly.

Scully sank into the chair Martha had pulled out for her.

“Have you found anything?” she asked.

Mulder shook his head and passed her a couple of rolls of microfiche.

“Local paper,” he said. “They had a blurb on the arrest of Franklin Donaughy, but nothing else. Probably not that surprising since the ‘murder’ was downstate. Now I’m searching through for articles about the trial to see if there’s anything there.” He nodded toward a second viewing machine further down the table. “Care to join me?”

She pulled the basket of rolls toward her.

“You take February ‘53, I’ll take March?”

XxXxXxXxXxX

They searched for two hours before Scully left to bring them back dinner and Dramamine. Mulder was just wadding up the butcher paper from his ham on rye when Scully got his attention, waving her salad fork in front of his face.

“I think I’ve got it,” she said.

He let out a soft, satisfied belch and then scooted his chair closer to hers.  

It was a front page story:

March 2, 1953

by VJ Hramic

Not Guilty: Hunter Proclaims Innocence

Mulder skimmed the article until he found what he was looking for.

“There,” he said, pointing to the screen, “his alibi -- he’d been hunting and camping in the woods near the school for four days during the time of his wife’s murder. State’s evidence is all circumstantial except for the gun. Same caliber and ammunition as his hunting rifle.”

“Hmm,” said Scully, still not convinced.

They scrolled on for another week and a half until finally:

Guilty!

There was a picture of a haunted looking Franklin Donaughy being led from the county courthouse in handcuffs, surrounded by fedora-wearing reporters and the large drums of fifty-year-old camera flashes.

“Jesus,” Scully said and Mulder leaned forward when she pointed to small print at the end of the article on page 4, below the fold.

“Mr. Donaughy repeatedly shouted the phrase ‘But it was only in my dreams! She only died in my dreams!’ to reporters as he was led away to the Gladwin County Jail. He has been since evaluated and sent to the Northern Michigan Asylum in Traverse City to receive treatment for what doctors are calling a psychotic break.”

The wooden chair creaked when he leaned back in it.

They were both silent for almost a full minute, the hum of the microfiche machines the only sound other than their breathing.

Finally, Mulder rose and spoke.

“I’m going to drive out to the Poquette residence to check on Hank,” he said formally. “Would you, ah, make a call for me?” She nodded up at him from the chair. “I’ve been playing phone tag with the priest at St. Francis Xavier. See if you can get in touch with him and set up a meeting tomorrow -- I want to see what he can tell us about the headmistress of Holy Childhood.”

Mulder walked out to the sedan with a headache. He rolled the windows all the way down as he drove down the sunset road.

[opossuwu]

Thnx @fartofthesunrise 4 tha Tagg 👍💙

1. What is the first song you remember hearing?

oh boy... dont know! my First Favorite Song was probably This Day Aria from MLP though Lol

2. What is the first band you got into?

hm... i think it might've been skrillex? i didn't get deep into his music, but i obsessed over him back in 2015 or something.

3. Do you collect music on any physical format?

Yes! i Collect vinyls and CDs mainly, but i do have a couple cassettes !

4. What is your favourite piece of music-related memorabilia/merchandise?

Oh! the RHCP stickers i got from my friend.. i put them on my skiing helmet and bass.

5. What is your favourite concert you've been to?

well, i Haven't been to A Lot.. but i enjoyed seeing Gaelic Storm at Big Top Chautauqua.. only one i Didn't feel Completely Awful at!

6. If you could see one artist (or band) who is no longer alive in concert, who would it be?

ohh Goodness... Rush, of course.. i've been Upset about That all day;;

7. Have you met any musicians?

A Few of My Teachers are Musicians! my Cousin is one! one of my Acquaintances is.! i Know a Few More...but besides people i know personally,... Nope!

8. What is your go-to song/album when feeling sad?

Depends on What Kind of Sadness i'm feeling... but a lot of the time i find myself listening to Rush's "Grace Under Pressure" while on the floor, vinyl spinning.

9. What is your go-to song/album when feeling happy?

Depends on what Kinda Happy..! but i'd Probably go to Invasion by John 5 cuz the energy and vibe of the Album is GREAT Just Awesome

10. What is one music-related documentary you love?

FUNKY MONKS!!! awesome RHCP doc about BSSM. i also Own a chili peppers Doc, but it doesn't feature any of the Guys.

11. What is one concert DVD that you love?

RHCP LIVE AT SLANE CASTLE IN 2003! everyone loves it, i've Never watched it In Full though... i know.. Fake Fan..

ALSO R30!!!! FUCK i LOVE R30 I PLAN ON BUYING A COPY SOON .

12. Do you prefer listening to playlists or full albums?

Depends on How I'm Feeling! most of the time i Am listening to My Playlist though.

13. Do you tend to listen to albums in order or on shuffle?

IN ORDER... thats the way they are Meant to be Listened To.. also i just Prefer it Lol

14. What is your favourite deep cut song by your favourite artist?

The Pass by Rush and Feasting on the Flowers by RHCP Ghgghyyggghu

15. What is your favorite CD/vinyl/cassette that you own in terms of packaging?

Hmm.. Brain Salad Surgery or the Napoleon Dynamite OST Tbh

hmm Today i will Tag @puregonzo @frusci & @calicojo tbh

[papermoonloveslucy]

Lucille Ball Reaches Top After Battle For Stardom

 December 4, 1953

When you see Lucille Ball cavorting about the Ricardo apartment in the CBS Television "I Love Lucy" series, you can rest assured that he expert comedienne is giving her all to the role of Lucy Ricardo. 

It is doubtful, in fact, that there is another TV trouper who gives as much of her physical and mental energies as does Lucille to the preparation of a comedy show. She gears herself up for each performance, works like a demon, and has been known to faint dead away after the director called 'cut' for the final scene. 

Being "on the ball" is no novelty to Lucille. At the beginning of her theatrical career in the role of a Broadway model she almost lost her life in an automobile accident, and was told that she would never walk again. It took her eight months in bed and three years of persistent effort to reverse the doctor's gloomy prediction. And from then on, her luck changed and she skyrocketed to the show business goal on which he'd set her eye since childhood. 

Lucille and Desi Arnaz were married in 1940, and it was 10 years later, when they were touring the country with comedy act, that she got word of an impending visit from the stork. It was also at this time that they made the audition program for "I Love Lucy," which was promptly sold, and made its debut Oct. 15. 1951. 

The daughter, Lucie Desiree Arnaz. was born July 17, 1951. And it is well known that a second child was on its way in the fall of 1952 when Lucille was doing 'enceinte" scenes for the TV show. And the newspapers made much of the fact that Desiderio Alberto Arnaz IV arrived January 19, 1953 on a TV show day which presented the birth of the Ricardo's baby boy as the theme of script. 

Born in Jamestown, N.Y., August 6, the daughter of Fred and Desiree Ball, mining engineer and concert pianist respectively, Lucille was taken at the age of two to Wyandotte, Mich., and then to Jamestown, N.Y. Mrs. Ball started her daughter's music lessons at the age of five, then enrolled her in the Chautauqua Institute of Music for two seasons. 

At 15, Lucille entered the John Murray Anderson dramatic school in New York and was told at the end of the first year of study, that she'd be better off applying her energies in some ether field. Determined to show her teacher that she could make good in show-business. 

Miss Ball landed a chorus job in the third road company of Ziegfeld's "Rio Rita" and lost the job after five weeks of rehearsal. Three other chorus jobs followed, none of which lasted beyond the rehearsal period. Her "first real job on Broadway" was as a soda jerk in a drug store. 

A job as a $25-a-week model for a wholesale dress company led to a modelling job with Hattie Carnegie. Then came the tragic accident in Central Park, and three years and eight months of learning to walk again. 

Back to work as a model, Lucille was featured in magazine and billboard cigarette advertisements, and Hollywood scouts brought her to the film capital for a showgirl role in Eddie Cantor's "Roman Scandals." Columbia Pictures gave her a contract as a stock player, and Lucille, convinced that her luck finally had turned, sent for her mother, grandfather and sister to join her in California. But it turned out to be just another stumbling block. The morning after she'd wired her family, the studio decided to dissolve its stock company. 

When the family arrived, Lucille was working as an extra at Paramount. Bit parts and extra roles in a number of pictures kept Lucille busy but not prosperous, until she was cast in "Roberta." RKO officials, impressed by her work, gave her a contract. When not busy before the cameras, she was a mainstay of the studio's Little Theatre. 

Her performance in the second lead in "The Girl from Paris" drew Broadway's attention to Miss Ball, and she was offered a lead in the musical, "Hey Diddle, Diddle." After satisfying her yen to perform on the Great White Way, "Stage Door" and "Too Many Girls." In the latter picture, she was co-starred with Desi Arnaz. They were married Nov. 30, 1940, in Greenwich, Conn. 

Back from her honeymoon, Lucille walked into her first really big break, a role in "The Big Street," based on a story by Damon Runyon. Overnight, it made her a star. In it, she played a showgirl who was paralyzed from the hips down. Her own three-and-a-half years in a similar predicament enabled her to play the role so convincingly that she had every studio bidding for her services. 

She signed with MGM on her birthday in 1942. Her first assignment at MGM was the title role in the Technicolor production, "Du Barry Was A Lady." Stellar roles followed in "Best Foot Forward" and "Meet The People." 

After completing "East To Wed" with Van Johnson, she headed for New York to be with her husband, then out of the Army and on his way to success in the orchestra business.

Shortly after completing "Her Husband's Affairs," Miss Ball went on tour as star of Elmer Rice's play. "Dream Girl." Between pictures and stage appearances, Lucille and her husband live at Desilu, their five-acre ranch at Northridge, some 30 miles from Hollywood. 

Lucille, who is five feet, six inches tall and weighs 120 lbs. sleeps in a bed seven by seven feet. She likes spicy dishes and enjoys knocking around the house in dungarees. 

In her role as Lucy Ricardo in "I Love Lucy," she is starred as the feminine half of a closely-knit married couple. And that's the role she plays in real life. 

[crank11news-blog]

Glenn Miller Orchestra Wants to Entertain You

Glenn Miller Orchestra Wants to Entertain You

Listen To Glenn Miller Orchestra Live

Experience Glenn Miller Orchestra in concert at one of the venues listed below.

With hits like In the Mood, Moonlight Serenade and American Patrol Glenn Miller Orchestra has made a mark since forming in 1937.

(more…)

[ustribunenews-blog]

'Glenn Miller Orchestra' Events

‘Glenn Miller Orchestra’ Events

Glenn Miller Orchestra Events

Enjoy Glenn Miller Orchestra live at one of the venues listed below.

With hits like In the Mood, Moonlight Serenade and American Patrol Glenn Miller Orchestra has made a mark since forming in 1937.

(more…)

[lindsayruebens]

The Grand #5-10-30

Last fall, Kane and I had two Frontier flight vouchers burning a hole in our pockets.

Also that fall, we celebrated being together for a decade. And then I turned 30 in December. April is Kane’s 30th birthday. And May is our fifth wedding anniversary.

And, for the past five years, we had exclusively used our vacation days for traveling to see family during the holidays and weddings. We were not only ready to celebrate but extremely ready for a vacation, and ready to do it up big.

Enter what my social-media-eschewing husband has persistently referred to as the #5-10-30 trip (yes I know there are no hyphens in real hashtags, but here we are), and he did so persistently enough that I too eventually broke down and also called it The 5-10-30.

Direct Frontier flights from Philadelphia narrowed our options considerably, and we wanted to pick somewhere we’d never been, so Denver it was. My parents very generously offered to watch Russ in Pennsylvania for a week, and after lots of research and planning, that’s how the best vacation Kane and I have ever had, or shall I say, The #5-10-30 Trip, materialized.

We rented a 2019 Nissan Rogue and basically did a loop beginning and ending in Denver. I kept a detailed journal of the trip, but I’ll spare you the less-thrilling details and share the highlights:

Day 1: Afternoon/evening in Denver

(^Ready for takeoff to Denver!)

Great AirBnB cottage in the LoHi neighborhood. After meeting us, our host ran into her house to bring us her own nice bottle of tequila, limes and shot glasses to start off our trip on a celebratory note. Cheers!

Speaking of cheers, we recommend the Recess Beer Garden, where we watched Virginia win the national title.

Day 2: Denver/Colorado Springs

We kicked breakfast off at Bacon Social House with a flight of bacon. And because we’re corny, we gave serious thought to ranking the six bacon styles (French toast was my fav, barbecue was Kane’s). Scissors for sharing the slices were included.

Next up: Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs. The red rock formations were breathtaking, and we’re glad we went to the visitor’s center for info on hiking trails. Great views of both Garden of the Gods and Pikes Peak.

Another fantastic AirBnB in Old Colorado City, and delicious dinner — just say yes to the brisket grilled cheese and lamb sliders — outside at Cerberus Brewing Company while watching the sun set behind the Rockies.

Day 3: Colorado Springs

We spent much of this day in the earth.

First stop was Cave of the Winds. Holy cow, do the Lantern Tour if you can. Our self-described hippie tour-guide, John, thoroughly scared us before we even began, warning us of having to walk crouched low for a couple of minutes through under-4-foot-high tunnels, that we’d only be walking by the light of candle-lit lanterns (hence the name Lantern Tour) and that we were about to enter the supposedly most haunted caverns in North America. It’s not a tour for the faint of heart (nor the arthritic). Learned the history of the 19th-century pioneers who took ownership of the caves and held exotic parties in them, and of course there was a generous helping of spooky ghost stories.

(^Our only photo in the cave before the tour began-- not the kind of setting to take a selfie!)

Back in the sunlight, we had lunch at Ivywild School, an elementary school-turned community center/local business spot/brewery.

Dinner in downtown Colorado Springs at The Rabbit Hole, also underground. We did actually try rabbit with the Bunny Bites appetizer… a drier, leaner version of chicken nuggets.

Day 4: Cañon City/Nathrop

Spent the day at the Royal Gorge in Cañon City. The gondola ride across was slightly panic-inducing, but offered amazing views; informative short movie about the Gorge in onsite theater; then walks across America’s tallest suspension bridge. The gaps between some of the wooden planks of the floor allowed you to see all the way to the Arkansas River flowing below. YIKES. Of course Kane insisted we really feel “fully alive,” and so we were the only ones nutty enough to go back and forth several more times in the wind. Don’t worry, I felt super-alive, and thankfully, remained in such a state.

Spectacular mountain drive along Route 50 to Nathrop, where we checked in at the Mt. Princeton Hot Springs Resort. It’s in the San Isabel National Forest.

(^Serious room with a view.)

That evening we donned bathing suits in 30-something degree weather to recline in the hot springs of Chalk Creek. We laid our heads on rocks, stared at the stars and crescent moon overhead and enjoyed deep conversation that also included momentarily pretending we were contestants on The Bachelor, because it was such an over-the-top date, and I assured Kane I was most certainly there for the right reasons.

Day 5: Nathrop/Breckenridge

Hot springs again in the bright morning sunshine before driving to Breckenridge, which was a little insane with hairpin turns up and down mountains. We drove through Alma, North America’s highest incorporated town, and were relieved to make it to our AirBnB. Then: A scrumptious sushi lunch downtown at The Blue Fish and perusing the town’s many shops.

We called up the Lost Bus, owned and operated by the Broken Compass Brewing, which picks up people for free from downtown Breckenridge to its brewery site a few miles away. This was my favorite brewery of the trip! Fantastic craft beers and great local vibe.

Then we walked about half a mile down the road to Flight Club for food. It was an extremely local experience (complete with a guy glass-blowing pipes next to the bar!) and even featured a local battle-of-the-bands winner, Hollywood Farmers, who were actually quite talented.

(^My view from the bar. Just some casual glass-blowing, dudes.)

Day 6: Boulder

A crazy drive to Boulder on Route 70 with foggy snow showers. But we made it in one piece to Chautauqua Park and hiked around the Flatirons on the Enchanted Mesa Trail and loved it.

Lunched at Roxie’s Tacos, where they served amazing Mexican-Indian fusion in the lovely campus area of CU-Boulder, then drove to the Celestial Seasonings headquarters for a free tea tour and samples. A highlight was the peppermint room! Free aromatherapy.

Checked into a Courtyard Marriott and ate at Avery Brewing Company.

Day 7: Boulder/Denver

Amazing breakfast at Lucile’s in adorable downtown Boulder. Walked around Pearl Street Mall, where the tulip beds were in bloom. If I had to choose one of the places we visited to move, I’d pick Boulder!

Drove back to Denver and attended a beautiful Palm Sunday Mass at the Cathedral Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. Proceeded to a tour of the Molly Brown House. Loved learning her incredible story: a rags-to-riches miner’s wife, Titanic survivor, philanthropist, winner of French Legion of Honor… Google her if you have time!

On to Stranahan’s Colorado Whiskey for a delightful distillery tour. We learned how it was made and aged and also how to properly drink whiskey. Not sure I’m a converted whiskey-drinker, but loved every minute of the tour.

We ended our trip where we began, in the LoHi neighborhood, at a fantastic Mediterranean tapas restaurant called El Five. We sat outside overlooking the Denver skyline and the Rockies before catching a red-eye home. It was the perfect way to punctuate a pretty near-perfect trip.

(^Dinner view. Until we meet again, Colorado!)

[janephillipsblog]

One Yellow Rabbit’s 33rd Annual High Performance Rodeo

This year I decided to sign up as a volunteer, mostly as an usher, for the High Performance Rodeo which is a three week long international theatre festival, hosted by One Yellow Rabbit. I takes place here in Calgary every January and this year it was the 33rd year. I signed up for a lot of shows right away as the spots fill up fast.

Just before the festival began, I attended a volunteer session. Though I was late (my acting class ran over time), it was great as they went over all the shows (I found more that I wanted to see – somehow I had missed that Scott Thompson of Kids in the Hall was part of the line up), gave out door prizes (I was not lucky that day) and there were complimentary drinks and snacks (including wine and beer).

My first usher shift was on the second day of the festival, January 10, and was for Pearle Harbour’s Chautauqua. It was sold out, so I almost did not get to see the show, but in the end there was room for the volunteers. Billed as “Part Cabaret, Part Tent Revival, All Drag”, this show was a unique, intimate and interactive experience created and performed by Justin Miller as Pearle Harbour, an all-American gal and World War II stewardess. I loved its originality and the pace of the show kept the audience engaged throughout. I was so engaged that when I left the tent, I forgot I was an usher with a duty to pick up empty cups around the seats. Oops!  

My second usher shift was on January 11 and was for How to Self-Suspend, written and performed by Mx Katie Sly. The piece promised to be provocative, thought-provoking and boundary pushing. We ushers were told that people may need to leave the space at some point (a few did) due to the subject matter dealing with trauma, abuse, pain, and sex. How to Self-Suspend is a performed memoir following Mx Sly escaping an abusive childhood in Montreal through to the discovery of their sexuality, gender-fluidity and eventually wholeness within themselves in the rope bondage scenes of Toronto and Vancouver. Mx Sly is a compelling storyteller who I found very likeable, which for me made the difficult subject matter easier to handle.

After a four day break I returned to the Rodeo to usher for Live Your Prime, with Damien Frost by the One Yellow Rabbit ensemble featuring Denise Clarke, Andy Curtis and John Murrell. This was a very fun and light-hearted show about an older man who had rose to fame starting with his book “Live Your Prime” and who now tours the country as a self-help guru with his son, Damien Jr. and wife, Darlene, a family who on the surface look like they have life figured out, but perhaps all is not what it seems. I loved the staging and the limited use of three, brightly coloured armchairs to create the various scenes. At the end of the festival, there were books for sale, including a lot of scripts by Canadian playwrights. With too many plays to choose from, I stuck this “non-fiction”. I bought copies of “Theatre of the Unimpressed” by Jordan Tannahill and Denise Clarke’s “The Big Secret Book”. After the festival, I got the chance to attend a talk at Poole Lawyers with Denise Clarke and so I got it signed there. Denise’s talk was about the book, Damien Frost, her life and One Yellow Rabbit which was very interesting and inspiring. My friend Denise (too many Denises!) and I had a nice chat with her afterwards too.

Crawlspace, written and performed from Karen Hines, was brilliant. The play is an account of her true- life real estate nightmare in 2006, after she purchased a tiny house in Toronto. Throughout the play, I empathized with Karen on many levels. Having worked as a REALTOR® now for nearly 12 years, I know that a real estate transaction really is all about caveat emptor (buyer beware). I have my own dead animals in houses stories (luckily not in my own residence) and I know the stressfulness of having to deal with pests and problems with the home (in my case, due to my own neglect). I also completely felt for Karen as she described how the home put her tens of thousands of dollars in debt and the traps that credit card companies created with their ever-increasing credit limits. Very inspiring and to think I almost didn’t get to see this play: first because the usher shift I signed up for was cancelled, then I was put on as an ambassador but this week warned that because it was sold out I would probably not get to see the play. I ended up doing coat check but there was room for all the ushers to watch the show so I was thrilled.

My fifth show to volunteer at was God’s Lake presented by A Castlereigh Theatre Project and Sage Theatre at the Pumphouse Theatres. The play, a work of documentary theatre, featured four actors playing members of the remote fly-in community of God’s Lake Narrows, Manitoba, following the murder of a young 15-year-old girl. The script is taken verbatim from actual interviews conducted in the community in 2017. I found this a raw and emotional piece and through the words of the community, it brought an understanding of the complex issues of life on the reserve and perhaps began to answer questions as to how a First Nations community can be torn apart by the cold-blooded murder of one of its youth. At each performance of a show during the High Performance Rodeo, a territorial acknowledgement of the Treaty 7 region is given and for this one, it was by a First Nations Elder. The performance ended with an Honour Song in which we all rose to our feet and then a short speech by the Elder indicating that as with a ceremony it is time to leave those negative thoughts with the Grandfathers and Grandmothers.

The sixth show for me was bug presented by the Manidoons Collective, written and performed by Yolanda Bonnell. The performance took place at the West Village Theatre in Sunalta and I loved how the stage was set up as if in a gathering with the audience all around. This one-woman performance was about indigenous women navigating addiction and inter-generational trauma. I found Yolanda Bonnell to be an extremely compelling and unique storyteller. At times, the story she wove was in places hard to watch and all emotional, however not without humour.  

Into the final week of the Rodeo and the first show of the week for me was Café Daughter by Kenneth T. Williams, presented by Alberta Theatre Projects, starring Tiffany Ayalik and directed by Lisa C. Ravensbergen. Inspired by the early life of The Honourable Dr. Lillian Eva Quan Dyck, Café Daughter is a coming of age story about a young woman of mixed heritage (part Cree, part Chinese) growing up in Canada in the 1950s and 1960s. Filled with humour, though in parts it was emotional, I felt that this show was amazing and so well done. Tiffany Ayalik, as the sole performer, commanded the stage not only as the main storyteller, Yvette Wong, but also as all the other characters in Yvette’s life. Her physicality was awesome and I was in awe of how she smoothly transitioned between all these characters and brought them all to life.

Hammered Hamlet was a completely different experience. Presented by The Shakespeare Company and Hit and Myth Productions at the Legion, three out of the five actors downed four shots of whiskey before the show with the encouragement of the audience. This show was a total riot – what a great way to present Shakespeare! The show was supposed to only be 90 minutes with the intermission and ended up being more than two hours! I actually wished I hadn’t ushered for this one, as I think it would have been more fun to watch after a couple of drinks.

And now for something completely different…….Cow Love! Created and performed by Federico Robledo and Nanda Suc for the Société Protectrice de Petites Idées from Guingamp, France, this was 50 minutes of offbeat physical comedy. It combined acrobatics, dance, slapstick and pantomime and was thoroughly enjoyable to watch.

Macbeth Muet played at the Pumphouse Theatres on the same days as Cow Love. As both were only about 60 minutes long and both works of physical comedy, the plays were scheduled so a patron could watch them on the same night if they wanted too. As an usher, I watched them on different nights. For Macbeth Muet¸ I knew, when I was instructed to tell people that the show contains eggs and blood, that we were in for treat. Created by Marie-Hélène Bélanger, Jon Lachlan Stewart, and of course, the Bard himself, this was unique retelling of the Scottish Play without spoken words and with only two actors (Jérémie Francoeur as Macbeth and Clara Prévost as Lady Macbeth) with some help from some homemade puppets. Another steller show that I have been lucky to attend and I loved the soundtrack.

A about this time in the festival, the days are starting to meld together. A couple that came to see Cow Love on the evening I ushered for Macbeth Muet, I recognized, but thought they had attended the previous evening’s performance of Cow Love, when it actually was from Hammered Hamlet which was earlier in the week. They also were at Après de Deluge: The Buddy Cole Monologues when I was ushering for that.

The last show, for me, of the Rodeo, was Après le Deluge: The Buddy Cole Monologues, created and performed by Scott Thompson. Originally a regular Kids in the Hall character, it was a real treat to get to see it live. The Kids in the Hall was a show I got into as a teenager when I first arrived in Canada and Buddy Cole was one of my favourite characters. This show was definitely in my top three shows and as I type, my face still hurts from smiling and laughing so much. Just over halfway through, the microphone decided to play up, but Scott incorporated it in to his act. It was Buddy Cole that was having mic issues and being driven insane with sounding like he was speaking into a tin can. In the end he took off the mic (you don’t really need it anyways in the Big Secret Theatre).

After the show, Scott and his team were having a drink at the Laycraft Lounge next to the theatre as well. I thought about approaching him just to say how much I enjoyed the show, but I was too shy and just headed home with the books I had bought, though I didn’t realize I had left behind my water bottle until the train was making its way through downtown.

And so that was my first experience of the One Yellow Rabbit High Performance Rodeo. What a fantastic, but busy, three weeks. I did not see every show that was a part of the festival and there were some recurring events that I did not experience this year such as the 10-Minute Play Festival and The Veronicas (an award show where everyone wins). Of the shows I did see, I did not see one bad show, they were all unique, well done and fabulous to watch. I loved how some shows – How to Self-Suspend, Crawlspace and Bug were examples of how artists had “taken their broken heart and made art”. Generally, I was most impressed with the one-person shows, with the performer’s ability to command the space and keep the audience engaged the entire time. My top three shows for this year’s festival were Café Daughter, Après le Deluge: The Buddy Cole Monologues, and Crawlspace.

I am already excited about next year!

[sneezingcow]

LIVESTREAM AVAILABLE: Michael Perry and the Long Beds at Big Top Chautauqua Sunday August 6, 2023 at 7:30 PM.

Livestream of Michael Perry and the Long Beds at Big Top Chautauqua Sunday August 6, 2023 at 7:30 PM.

Michael Perry and the Long Beds are heading up to perform under the Big Blue Tent at Big Top Chautauqua Sunday August 6, 2023 at 7:30 PM. Can’t make it up to the Big Blue Tent? The Lake Superior Big Top Chautauqua folks are making the event available via livestream for $14.99. Click this link for more information. [NOTE: the livestream is under the care and direction of the Big Top, please…

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Greg Brown sings “Two Little Feet” from the album “Further In” under the Big Top Chautauqua in 2001

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August 19 2020 Boulder

Today is Aimey and Philip’s fifth wedding anniversary!  I can’t believe the time has flown by so fast and so much has happened since their wedding at the top of Flagstaff Mountain five years ago!  They wanted to take a hike up there to remember that marvelous day so they brought Indigo over to our house and we walked up to Chautauqua Park together.  When he felt comfortable playing in the little playhouse there, they headed off for their hike and some much-needed time to themselves.

Indigo loves playgrounds!  When he was just a baby I took him to the one near his house and he crawled around on the grass and loved swinging on the “big” swings.  He has a “little” swing in his back yard but it doesn’t  thrill him as much as these ones which go even higher.

He also likes to climb and he had lots of opportunities in the park, with all its big boulders.  He’s pretty careful but I was only inches away from him to catch him if he started to fall.

Indie loves texture.  Since he was an infant and was more interested in the tags on his clothes and toys than the actual items, I thought he might have an artist and designer inside that little mind.  Now one of his favorite things to do is painting, so the artist is expressing himself openly.

Since Aimey’s birthday was yesterday, their anniversary is today, and Philip’s birthday was yesterday, and since we weren’t able to be with Indie on his second birthday, I made a pie and served them a lovely lunch on the back deck when they got back from hiking.

Of course, there were birthday presents for all three of them! Indigo had such fun with his new toys and especially his elephant backpack.

It had been a long day and the little guy was really tired so we managed to get a family photo but expecting a smile from him was a bit too much.  He’s still cute even when he’s grimacing!  Philip made up for it with his wacky smile!

I cleaned up after the party and then joined my Spanish teacher, Camila, and the other members of our Spanish class, Frances and Caroline for our class on ZOOM.  Half my life is on ZOOM now but at least I get to see and be with people, even if it is virtually.

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4 AND 20 AND 3

3. ohuhuhu BLOOD SUGAR SEX MAGIK! i mean as of Now... but my All Time favorite album is STADIUM ARCADIUM😇

4. um Hmm... "Why Does the Sun Shine?" & "Why Does the Sun Really Shine?" ..both from a Very Great album as we Know.

20. MAN! well the first Bigger and Well Known artist i went to Go see was Phillip Phillips! it was a Very Shitty Time. cousin would Not stop degrading me and Being awfully Rude! cried during "Home"! man i miss Big Top Chautauqua! good times.

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#latergram from last night's show! @rufuswainwright was the absolute sweetest and hearing him perform live was an honor in itself. #selfie #rufuswainwright #starstruck (at Lake Superior Big Top Chautauqua)