StoryMapping Stories

The day after my 50th birthday, I decided to treat myself to a trip to West Marin County. January in the San Francisco Bay Area can have days that explain the high cost of living. Really too warm and beautiful.

The invitation had come from Phyllis Faber, a publisher, biologist, and activist with the Marin Agricultural Land Trust, an organization that has been helping to keep West Marin a pastoral paradise, and a place for sustainable local food production, for several decades. She had asked if we could come out and do an interview with Sharon Doughty, a dairy farmer whose family had been involved in farming in Point Reyes for a hundred years.

We were joined by a new friend of CDS, Amir Terkel, who volunteered to assist with shooting some video of our planned interview. It turned into a wonderful tour of West Marin agricultural history, current issues, and future prospects. We created a film from the interview. (View Film)

What we learned from our talks with Phyllis and Sharon was that the struggle to sustain Marin Agriculture has its roots in the sixties when the county considered creating freeways across Marin and planning a town of 125,000 people at Tomales Bay. Environmentalists joined with ranchers to oppose the plans. A second crisis occurred with the creation of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and the Point Reyes National Seashore as many ranchers faced the complete loss of their land. Lobbying efforts, including pleas from Sharon’s grandmother, led to a “lease back” arrangement with ranchers that made agriculture part of the ongoing sustainance of the Point Reyes peninsula.

Since the seventies concerns about sustaining water quality of Tomales Bay for fishing and oyster beds had forced water quality standards to be adopted that forced many ranchers out of business. As it turned out, the one’s that survived have slowly moved toward environmentally compatible practices, and for economic as well as environmental reasons, organic production.

Sharon’s courage and determination, having survived being widowed twice, and now facing a health struggle of her own, was a tremendous inspiration.

Carroll Parrott Blue is one persistent collaborator.

On my 45th birthday in 2002, I met Carroll at an event in the eastside of San Diego that was part of a project we had done with the Waitt Family Foundation and the Institute for the Future. Carroll was working on completing “The Dawn at My Back, Memoir of a Black Texas Upbringing.” One thing led to another and she ended up presenting the work at the Digital Storytelling Festival that year, and generally blowing everyone away. Within a year she was winning an award at Sundance, and moving from her long time home in San Diego to a new job as a professor at the University of Central Florida.

Carroll’s interest in Digital Storytelling sustained our collaboration and Emily Paulos and I made a couple of trips to UCF, plans were hatched, and we had hoped to make a stab at creating a local project in Orlando’s African American community. As it worked out, Carroll, who was born and raised in Houston, was considering working in her hometown of Houston, about the time we were connecting with colleagues at the University of Houston. Dr. Bernard Robin, grad student Anne Rudnicki and others had been doing educational applications of digital storytelling for several years, and were interested in collaborating with CDS.

With a bit of luck, Carroll was able to make a connection with the UH College of Education through Bernard, and found herself over the summer of 2006 working on a mapping project with the Third Ward. The project initially was manifest as a class to create an installation at Project Row House, the renowned arts organization directed by Rick Lowe, but Carroll’s interest has since led her to build her own non-profit, The Dawn Project, which will be developing a number of projects to articulate the relationships between redevelopment, social memory, personal memory, and the visioning processes necessary to sustain and expand historic communities like the Third Ward.

In the Fall, we discussed using her efforts to create a prototype Storymapping project with residents of the Third Ward. As it happens, from 1978 to 1980, I had lived in Houston and one of my efforts was working with the SHAPE Center, an activist oriented community center. I started my work in theater there. So I knew the neighborhood, and had a sense of its history.

What I proposed to Carroll was a departure from our process in Digital Storytelling, what I called the Walking Story Circle. What I believed was that instead of people sharing the stories for the first time in a room, that everyone should hear the place stories in the place the stories described. My feeling was that we might accomplish two things, capture a recording of a story in the location (similar to Murmur) using audio and video recordings, and provide the group with a context for discussing the writing of a considered narrative as we would have in our normal workshops.

The results were promising. As we drove from site to site in the Third Ward, having people tell their stories with an audience helped some folks become animated about the issues and emotions connected to the story. For others, it was a bit more pressured than a one-on-one interview might have been. But for everyone, hearing the story and being present at the site, made them seem to connect more deeply to the meaning of the story, and the next day, when we held a story circle to discuss each story, people were tremendously engaged. The re-writes benefited from people’s encouragement, and we felt this made the written stories more powerful.

In any media process there is a blance between the clarity of the considered narratives, and spontaneity of the interview. Having the option to use either seemed appropriate. As we know from on-site radio, what you do not get with the written and recorded narration is the ambiance of the recordings on site, which helps the audience place themselves in the story. We considered using ambiance from each site captured during the original recording, but that seemed a bit odd.

We still have more to learn and discuss about this process, and we look forward to the other collaborators joining in the dialogue.

All Story is About Place

In 1995, when Dana Atchley and I were programming the first Digital Storytelling Festival, I insisted that we invite one person representing a non-digital perspective about storytelling. My choice was Jo Carson, a community artists, playwright and storyteller from Eastern Tennessee. Jo was the official cynic at this small gathering, and she came with a singular sense of resistance – mediated storytelling of any kind was to be looked on with great suspicion.

I remember when it came time to speak on the first morning up in the little Town Hall in Crested Butte, Jo rose and declared that all story was essentially about place. That without the grounding of real terrafirma, and lived human experience on top of it, story loses its meaning. Her caution was about de-contextualization. Healing stories uprooted from the soil that bred them could become culturally toxic in the hands of media peddlers. This had been a long, shared experience of Appalacian stories, their folk wisdom and humor turned into Hillybilly satire, their tragedy into pitying portrayals of meek and powerless victims.

Jo in working with local, mainly rural communities around the U.S. knew how damaging stereotypes could be, and conversely that is was enormously powerful and important to provide a local community with a way to tell their own story. She has helped dozens of communities to produce local plays to capture essential, complex and at times difficult tales about the meaning of their place.

In 2003-04, I lived with my family in a small town in Italy. I never really lived in a small town. To be frank, I was a stranger the whole time. Another language, another culture, I tried to find my way into the place, but I was so often just in my head. Outsider. Observer. But this feeling was telling to me. I paid attention to the feeling. I was never uncomfortable in that role.

While I was in Italy I had called my blog space, Texan-in-Exile.it. I hadn’t lived in Texas in nearly 30 years, but my exile status suited my temperament. Since I came back, I began to see that I have lived as a stranger, particularly since the death of my mother and brother, and the loss of the family home in Texas. Uprooted, a refugee, and living with a sense of distance from home as a permanent way of being.

So much of being in a place is knowing its secrets, how much the story of who said what to whom, of loves that had been lost, of old battles over trifling matters, or of simple connections that sustained, of the things and people that were as solid as the horizon, of how much had been survived and the pride that engendered in nearly everyone. Strangers can’t know these things. The knowing of the secrets is a gentle process of awareness, repeated intimacies, that come with being there.

This site will serve as a place for me to work with folks in developing a Field Guide to Storymapping. I am counting on several friends to collaborate as part of this process, and a blog space seems to make sense. My thoughts is that between now and the end of the year, I should be able to post enough material to rationalize committing to publication of a book. Let me know your thoughts.