COLD SPRING HOLLOW
A little over a year ago it was my good fortune to spend several days in Berkley County, West Virginia. “Tepee,” a jovial and good natured fellow and myself were in a camp out three miles from historic Martinsburg. The place was not so very far from the Maryland border. The festival chosen was “The Ingathering,” a story about America, in which food for humanity was the central theme. The characters were the country youth from those West Virginia hills. The site selected was Cold Spring Hollow near Opequan Creek. It was a beautiful spot in a little valley on Uncle Nat’s farm. On the hillsides which rose right and left from the hollow, there were many stately pines. A spring in the upper part of the valley kept the grass green and furnished many a refreshing drink.
The scene of the story of “The Ingathering” is laid in the Garden of Freedom where the Altar of Liberty is concealed. Mother Earth is escorted through a field of golden grain to the Garden. Here she stops and tells her escort that the Holy Earth has a soul and that through the ages her friends have been, Story, Art, and Song and that the elements of nature when the seasons were made selected Autumn as the most beautiful of all. The Spirit of Autumn, arrayed in all the colors characteristic of that season, moves about the field with graceful rhythm. Story then comes running through the field into the Garden of Freedom and tells Mother Earth that her children, representing many different races, are coming in search of the Altar of Liberty. They enter the field talking, though they do not understand each other. They babble. As they approach the Garden she halts them, asks them to be seated and gives Story a basket of bread that they may have food to eat. Mother Earth realizes that when people break bread with each other they not only understand each other better, but they also exemplify the noblest virtuesof mankind—sacrifice and charity. Story then tells Mother Earth that people since time immemorial have commemorated the ingathering of food. Art comes and teaches the races many games and frolics with them. In the distance Song is heard. She enters and succeeds in getting all these people singing together. Mother Earth beckons Story, Art, and Song to bring all these people to the Garden of Freedom. They come and kneel with hands outstretched. For a moment darkness reigns everywhere. Story, Art, and Song uncover what these children for generations have been praying for. Light again appears and before their eyes the Altar of Liberty is seen in the Garden of Freedom which is located in the land called America.
The Altar of Liberty was constructed out of poles and evergreens cut from the nearby woods. Joe and Jim, two country lads, were the architects and builders. Joe was fat and chubby and about as large around as an apple barrel. He had a pair of merry blue eyes and everybody liked him. One day after the rehearsal, when we were laying out the framework of the altar with poles, I said, “Joe, don’t you think you had better get a saw and cut the ends of these poles straight so they’ll stand erect?” Joe looked at me and said, “Don’t you think I can cut them?” He was standing with his hand and foot resting on the handle and blade of a wood chopper’s ax. When told he might try, he raised the ax over his shoulder and with several strokes cut the pole off as straight and clean as any first-class carpenter would have sawed it. After that day when anybody saw Joe carrying an ax around the camp they would follow him, because they knew Joe was an expert woodsman. Jim, his pal, was lean, had brown eyes, and was somewhat rough spoken. But Jim could drive twenty penny spikes. His aim was true. Of the many he drove he never missed a head. The construction of the Altar of Liberty was the medium through which Joe and Jim got interested in the festival.
The evening it was presented the automobiles which usually furnished the lights were not there. The hilly roads prevented their coming down into the valley. Some other kindof light had had to be found. One day during the week a fourteen-year-old boy had been seen scratching a match on the edge of a tin can cover. When asked what made the flame he said it was pitch. After a few trials as to its light power, the lads were sent up into the woods to get all they could find. They brought back large quantities. Chunks of pitch as large as your fists were placed on flat pieces of limestone near the altar. These natural footlights with a huge bonfire furnished all the light necessary for the production. A small organ, about the size of three suit-cases placed on top of each other, was used for the musical effects. The audience was made up of about a hundred and twenty-five country people. They were seated on peach crates, buggy seats, camp stools, horse blankets, and checkered bed quilts.
The evening the festival was presented was an ideal one. The air was cool and crisp. The stars were out. In the distance Opequan Creek could be heard. The scene was a most impressive one. Evergreen boughs laid on the ground in the form of a circle separated the audience from those who took part in the play.At the right and up the hill a little way the organ could be heard at intervals. The most beautiful part of it all was near the end of the festival when the reflection of the lights on the flat stones showed the ensemble of the characters. They were kneeling in the Garden of Freedom with their hands outstretched toward the Altar of Liberty singing—
“Our fathers’ God, to Thee,Author of LibertyTo Thee we sing;Long may our land be brightWith freedom’s holy light;Protect us by Thy might,Great God, our King!”
“Our fathers’ God, to Thee,Author of LibertyTo Thee we sing;Long may our land be brightWith freedom’s holy light;Protect us by Thy might,Great God, our King!”
“Our fathers’ God, to Thee,Author of LibertyTo Thee we sing;Long may our land be brightWith freedom’s holy light;Protect us by Thy might,Great God, our King!”
“Our fathers’ God, to Thee,
Author of Liberty
To Thee we sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom’s holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King!”
The effect was thrilling. In a valley in the foothills of West Virginia a group of country people were not only finding themselves, but they were also expressing a great American ideal.
The message of The Little Country Theater—to help people find their true expression in the community in which they live—was carried beyond the golden stubbled field of the land of the Dacotahs into the heart of the hills of West Virginia.
Knowledge is of two kinds—We know a subject ourselves or we know where we can find information upon it.Samuel Johnson.
Knowledge is of two kinds—We know a subject ourselves or we know where we can find information upon it.
Samuel Johnson.