Welcome to Mary Louise Chown.com!
Updated September 5, 2017
Here are three upcoming events that I want to tell you about:
September 23-24 Te Eastman Judged Art Show will be taking place in the community hall in Whitemouth Manitoba, from 10 Am to 5Pm on Saturday and from 10 AM to 3Pm on Sunday. Come and see all the interesting and varied artwork that is produced in this area. Admission is free.
October 27 Stories and Music for the Turning of the Year in celebration of Halloween. FIREFLY is hosting a house concert at our farm, River Hills Farm and Apiary, 73050 Pr 408, at 7:30. FIREFLY is singer /songwriter ( guitar and keyboard) Shannon Shewchuk, working with me as the storyteller and hammered dulcimer player. More details to follow.
October 29 Millenium Library , Winnipeg. I will be telling stories with Wayne Drury in the afternoon in the children's area. Admission is free.
Updated August 27, 2017
Here we go again. I am back in business with the help of my lovely daughter in law, Aja. Here I am with my husband, and Dog and 15 laying hens , as well as 10 beehives at RIVER HILLS FARM AND APIARY on the banks of the beautiful Whitemouth River.
I have begun filling in the headings that you see at the top of my website. Please check them out. It has been a busy summer here in the lovely section of our province known as EastMan. The Boreal Shores Art Tour, the first tour of artist's studios in eastern Manitoba took place this August and our farm was a popular stop. We have hosted a barn dance and concerts in our large barn as well as drum circles and a three day plant spirit medicine course taught.
Coming up is a night of Halloween stories and music.
Updated November 2, 2015
A fresh start! As you can see, my website is under construction.It's a long story about how all my material disappeared and maybe one day I will tell you all about it. But rest assured. Storytelling is alive and well out my way.
Here's what's going on:
Come to the Millenium Library in downtown Winnipeg on November 8, for Storytelling in the Round. Marc Kuly and I will be there from 2:00pm to 3:00 PM.
Come to the beautiful village of St. Georges on the Winnipeg River on November 12. Celebrate Canada Storytelling Night with me and fellow raconteur Sheldon Sveinson, and musicians Michel Dupas and Shannon Shewchuk. We'll be telling at Librarie Allard in town. Our show is called The Cranberry Feast.
I am excited about leading a workshop on climate change later on November 27.This workshop will be recording stories of participants about their responses to climate change. It's funded by the University of Athabaska, in Edmonton. We are calling the event The River of Change, and it will also feature a catered lunch by The Spicy Radish restaurant in Whitemouth.
Later on in December I will be giving a house concert in San Francisco at the home of the well known storyteller, Ruth Stotter. The show is called Night Rider in the Magic Garden and I am really looking forward to the evening.
On December 13, I am telling stories at a unique event in Kenora at the Lake of the Woods Brewery, called Starry Starry Night and will feature music from local artists as well as artists from Winnipeg and my telling of The Story of Silent Night. So why am I doing so much work outside Winnipeg? Well, because now I live on a beautiful farm in eastern Manitoba on the banks of the Whitemouth River. We have been here for four years, keeping bees, raising chickens, and taking part in the vibrant arts and recreational opportunities here, so close to Whiteshell Provincial Park and the lakes and hills of the Canadian Shield country.
You can still get a copy of my book NOW I KNOW THE WORLD IS ROUND:Stories at the End of Life. The cost is $20 plus shipping.
You can email me at firstname.lastname@example.org for information on any of the news I have posted, or to order a copy of my book.
Please be patient as I slowly rebuild my website!
While I'm rebuilding here is an early Christmas gift for you... a Christmas story for you that I wrote a short while back….. it began with a sharp memory.
Who Are The Saints?
Good King Wenceslaus looked out on the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even
Wenceslaus. It is very strange and mysterious how one word can call up a thousand images...a whole story. My friend Grace came over for supper one night last October and she told me about her stay in Prague; the beautiful old medieval city, full of music. Then she saw the castle of King Wenceslaus, built on a high cliff overlooking the river Vltava.
I have not told Grace this, but as soon as she mentioned Wenceslaus I was eight years old again, trudging through the snow that lay “deep and crisp and even”, my head bent down against the bitter north wind that drove itself down Claremont Avenue. There was no snow blanketing the Winnipeg world as Grace and I sat and talked over supper, yet in the space of a second, a winter scene was unfolding itself from the recesses of my memory.
December 1953. I was eight years old. Dad had died in November of that year and my mother, my brother and I were on our way to the movies for the second time that week. We were Catholic and my favourite part of Christmas every year was always Advent...the getting ready....pulling out the Christmas records, playing the carols and the hymns, practising them for the school Christmas concert where Father Empson always sat large and encouraging in the front row.
But the winter of 1953 was different. After Dad died we went out a lot, and we always walked. Looking back now, I wonder if we didn’t have a car until my mother found work. In Norwood at that time, there were two movie theatres across the park at the end of our street, and two drugstores with lunch counters where you could buy milkshakes and sodas.
My brother and I didn’t question why we had to go out to the movies two or three times a week that winter. What normal eight or ten year old would? It was a dream come true! I remember the cold north wind blowing on our faces as we walked into it along Claremont Street to Coronation Park. Then across the park to Tache and Marion where the shows were. I remember walking beside my mother and crying because the wind cut into my face. She didn’t chide me. She simply said, “Walk in my footsteps. I’ll break the wind for you.”
Mom wore a thick, velvety black beaver coat and those black boots with fur at the top which came just above the ankle and tied in front. She strode along the snowy sidewalk like a large black bear. I walked along behind and the wind no longer bit into my face and cheeks.
In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted
Heat was in the very steps which the saint had printed
Well who are the saints anyway? I had been taught at school that they started out as ordinary people who did something brave or kind. Wasn’t my mother both of these things? Brave to keep on living as normally as possible, keeping us cheerful and hopeful. Kind to take us to the show so often each week, feeding us along the way with milkshakes and sandwiches.
This was my song. It didn’t matter that there was no poor peasant to whom we were bringing food. I was that page, trudging through snow that was “deep and crisp and even”. The sandwiches my mother carried and the milkshake we stopped for was to feed us...poor starving trio without our dad. It didn’t matter that we were walking so purposefully not towards home, but away to the cold comfort of a movie house.
Who was King Wenceslaus? This is less clear. Perhaps Mom and Dad were both Wenceslaus. Dad was the Wenceslaus at the beginning, when he looks out of his castle window and sees someone walking through the bitter snow. After all, I had been assured that my father was in fact in Heaven and could have chosen this very moment to look down on us as we worked our way north on Claremont Avenue. Then the scene shifts with the ease only possible in the mind’s eye. My face is stinging with cold and now Wenceslaus is walking ahead of me, shielding me from the bitter weather with her own body.
The carol began its part in shaping the story of who I am even while I walked along on those far off winter nights and it continues to bring into sharp and instant focus that feeling of being at once without, and yet protected.