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Jacob and Me

June 24, 2018


This handsome farmhouse, caught between two shafts of light on soltice eve was built over 150 years ago by Jacob Neff Ebey. Jacob and I have more than a nodding acquaintance with one another: Isaac Ebey was his son and Rebecca Ebey his daughter-in-law. In my show, “Rebecca: the story of Rebecca Ebey”, Jacob played an important supporting role.

Like so many of those early pioneers, Jacob moved around – a lot. Born in Pennsylvania, he married Sarah Blue and moved to Ohio. There, he and Sarah had eight children- five of whom survived to adulthood. Isaac was his second child and first son. In 1831 the family moved to Illinois. There, in the Black Hawk War, Jacob was a captain in the same battalion as a young lawyer named Abraham Lincoln. Then, in 1840, they moved again – to Missouri. Finally, following his son Issac west, Jacob and the remainder of the family joined him here on Whidbey in 1854.

The Aebi family can be traced back to the 13th Century in Switzerland. Theodorus Durst Eby, Jacob’s first American ancestor, settled in Pennsylvania – and the land he tilled is still being farming by the Amish… strange to consider as I look out on Jacob’s alfalfa fields. Those fields of Jacob and his son, a rich panoply of brown and yellow and green, are still there – thanks to Ebey’s Landing, the 17,000 acre preserve created in 1978. Third and fourth generation descendants of Central Whidbey’s pioneer community still farm some of those lands.

Jacob and Sarah named their farm – right next to their son’s land claim – Sunnyside. He didn’t have much time to enjoy it; he died on February 24, 1862 only four years after it was built. His younger son, Winfield, wrote in his diary: “This is a day of sorrow and mourning. Our dear Father died…. I shall feel very lonesome I know…. I have so long been with him.” By the time Winfield died three years later, the Ebey family had lost so many: Jacob and Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca and their daughter, Hetty, and Isaac and Winfield’s sister, Ruth. Overcome with grief, Jacob’s oldest child, Mary Ebey Bozarth, created the beginnings of the Sunnyside Historical Cemetery, located on Jacob’s claim. Eventually all the Ebey family grave sites were moved to this spot and remain there today.

I have been to those grave sites many times, stood beside them, read the names, and thought about this family that- through research and imagining- I have come to know. They are like old friends – Jacob and Sarah and Isaac and Rebecca and the others. I picture Jacob: the farmer, the old warrior…bearded…sturdy and strong. The farmhouse reflects the man: simple yet beautiful. I am so glad it is still here.


Berte Olson is back!

May 24, 2018

2018.0601 FFSN Flyer-QSG

Teaching and Storytelling

May 20, 2018

Holy Rosary


It was a field day for the 5th and 6th graders of Holy Rosary School at Camp Casey near Coupeville on Whidbey Island. The day had been sunny and full of outdoor activities. Now, at dusk, it had become rainy and cold. The hall selected for the storytelling had no heat; the kids were shivering – and I left my jacket on. As I launched into the session, they huddled together – but they were listening.

I told them about the 6th graders who were my test audience many years ago when I was a beginning teller – and how valuable their feedback was. As I did, their faces melded into the faces of all the middle school groups I have faced- as a teacher and a storyteller. Sixth grade, for me as a storyteller, is an IDEAL audience: old enough to have really mature insights and still young enough to let their imaginations run free. Though I was cold and they were cold, we were together; a community.

When the session was over, they all applauded and then, trooped out: the usual noisy, boisterous middle school bunch. As I watched them go, I wondered – as all teachers have done since the beginning of time – did they really understand? Did they “get it”? Storytellers don’t have much more indication than classroom teachers do about things like this. Oh yes, I have slam bang sessions where the kids are so jazzed and wired afterwards that I KNOW I have made an impact. But many sessions are much like this one: i.e. the kids are attentive listeners, responsive, present – but, in the end – non-committal. And you wonder….

And then I received the above in the mail – neatly stapled to a piece of construction paper. After almost forty years, it still amazes me when kids actually LEARN something I taught them. To the fifth and sixth graders of Holy Rosary School: thank you. Teaching and storytelling: a sublime combination.

Finally… a video!!

May 10, 2018

It’s only taken me four years to do it – but I finally have a video. The performance took place in the town of Bauan in the Philippines: the same town where I taught ESL as a Peace Corps Volunteer almost fifty years ago. A roomful of third graders… some hesitant but willing teachers… and an eager storyteller ready to share.

Go to the “Links” site on this website and then click on “Storyteller Jill Johnson in the Philippines”. ENJOY!!


Storytelling Between Generations

March 14, 2018

Oh no, the kids aren’t interested in my stories.”

Are you kidding?? They’re only interested in what’s on their cell phones!”

These are the kind of remarks I get at presentations for elders: in senior centers, assisted living communities… at a hospice recently in New Zealand.


But -for thousands of years, elders were the primary educators of children and youth. These educators taught many things: practical life skills, the history of their people to give the young a perspective on current events, and the values and beliefs that formed the cornerstone of their society.

Question: Are these things still relevant and valuable today? Of course, they are!


I am sure you have heard – as I have – children or grandchildren at a funeral, lamenting… ‘Why didn’t I ask questions? Why didn’t I listen? Now, s/he’s gone – and I can’t do either…’ As a storyteller, I am committed to demonstrating to elders how valuable their contributions are. Yes, they need a little help sometimes – to structure their stories, to make them relevant to young people in the 21st century. But, most of all, they need to have the faith that they have something valuable to contribute to younger generations. And they DO. I have seen kids – 10, 12, 14 year olds – sitting, dumbstruck, as an elder describes riding a horse to school, or searching for a child lost in a snowstorm. At the National Storytelling Festival in Tennessee, I watched hundreds of kids, bussed in for a special day, sit rapt, listening to the stories of a wonderful 84 year old storyteller – Kathryn Windham. “She is SO cool!” said one teen. And she was….







However, elders, you don’t need to be Kathryn Windham to tell engaging stories to young people you care about. Yes, the world is changing. But stories of persistence and humor and courage and wit are always relevant – no matter when they took place. And when those stories come from someone you know, someone you love, the impact can be even stronger.


At the hospice in New Zealand, things really began to pop when a great-grandmother finally spoke up. She described telling stories to her great-grandchildren – and their reaction: “Granny… you DIDN’T??!” There were smiles, laughs, nods – and suddenly everyone wanted to talk. Stories poured out of them; stories that their descendants needed to hear. My last words to them were, “Tell them. Tell those stories.” I hope they do.



Year Nine at Rangitoto

March 6, 2018


Rangitoto College is the largest secondary school in Auckland: 3000+ students Year 9 – 13 from 60 countries. These kids study from 12 different curriculum departments including 4 years of creative arts: graphic arts including photography and sculpture, dance, drama and theater, music: choirs, instrumental ensembles, bands, an orchestra…sigh. I remember student teaching in a similar school in the US – over fifty years ago. I have not been in another since.

So – it was doubly fun to perform for the Year 9 students (13 – 14 yrs). These students chose to take these courses; no sullen, reluctant faces. They were bright and energetic. Sensing their enthusiasm, I juggled stories at the last minute. I decided to first share a story about my daughter when she was their age. I described the dust-ups we had – and her success years later. Later, I asked what images or pictures they had seen as I told the story – and hands shot up.

That’s the first level of connection we storytellers reach for. We want listeners to enter into our stories through their imaginations: to see and hear and smell and touch and to emotionally identify – to feel – for and with the characters of the story. But our task goes deeper.  Then I asked: while listening to this story, did you remember a story from your own life? It took a few minutes of discussion; some students thought their own stories had to mirror mine. But when I assured them that no, any remembered event was fine,  several students stood up and told brief but solid stories of their own.  If, as a storyteller, you can get your audience to participate in your story and, at the same time, remember one of their own – you’ve done it. You’ve reached the second level….

The students asked such good questions – and listened to the answers. We spoke – with feeling – about the superb speeches made by the students of Parkland, Florida following the massacre. Looking into those earnest, lively faces, I felt a deep joy – and a new hope.

Elders in Auckland

February 27, 2018

Jill Johnson 001

This morning I did a presentation for a  group of elders at the Hospice North Shore here in Auckland. Before I started, I had a short conversation with “David”, who came in NZ over 75 years ago by boat – which took four and a half weeks. Then, I was introduced to others: “Edgar”, a dapper 90ish fellow who had been a Primary Teacher for over 40 years and an animated Chinese lady who spoke little or no English. Can you imagine trying to learn another language at age 85? But she was really working at it!! “Duane”, a large bushy-bearded fellow, relished entertaining  the others with his  saucy and politically incorrect statements; he obviously enjoyed his reputation as the group’s “bad boy”. When the program started, I told several stories, which were well received. But – what happened afterwards was much more important.

“Nan”, a sprightly lady in her late 80’s began talking about sharing stories of her childhood with her grand-children – and their stunned reactions: “Granny, did you REALLY do that?” Faces all over the room came alive and  animated conversations began about how to successfully  share life experiences with your progeny. Some felt it was very important to write it down; others preferred reading “stories” to grandchildren and great-grands – and then adding a personal story that reflected the theme of the other. But the best part was watching the faces of the skeptics: those convinced that their past was unimportant; irrelevant to successive generations. Very slowly, the quizzical looks began to soften. The discussion continued as we adjourned the session and went in for lunch. Several hospice volunteers eagerly joined in, sharing their experiences. It became more and more obvious that this group was sharing a common experience that suddenly seemed much more valuable than many had previously thought. There was a growing realization that- despite technology and our current access to incredible amounts of information- this was something only THEY could provide for their families.  THIS …. is  why I do this work.

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