Bright, sunny, 75 degrees, and we hosted a Christmas party. Bizarre.

Even more bizarre is that at one point it started raining. For those of you not from the south, it may come as a surprise to you that it still rains here, too. Who knew?

Anyway, we planned for about 75 people, and more than twice that showed up. It was a great success, a little circus-like, and certainly light on pictures since the staff was running hither and thither.

Here’s what we did capture–

In keeping with the day’s weirdness, we brought some crazy stuff out of the attic.

Here sit Uncle Remus and the Little Boy, part of a “diorama” donated by Disney for the premier of Song of the South.

Admittedly, they’re terrifying. I guess that’s what happens when you sit up in the attic for a few decades.

We have my mom to thank for a wonderful afternoon. Well, her and the unflappable Lee twins.

Hey, check out that ye olde Victorian punche.

Miss Woodie told stories for a little while as a crowd gathered ’round.

By the time she was done, there wasn’t much room to sit on either side of the porch.

It happened to be Joel Chandler Harris’ birthday. I cut the cake into the smallest squares imaginable.

It went quick. Lauren, you can thank me later for including this picture.

That’s all we got, unfortunately!

If anyone wants to send in some pictures, I’d be happy to forward it to our team of editors. It may just make it on the blog.

The filmmakers–the Coen brothers–are phenomenal storytellers. The single most important part of their movies is the dialogue (well, that and lighting, but no matter!).

Each of the movies you’ve seen by them employ hilariously intricate dialect. They’re almost love letters to the words of the people: respectfully precise, provincially astute, and knowingly clever. There’s a fine line between funny and making fun, and the Coen brothers toe it expertly.

In the truest sense of the word, it’s folklore brought on screen.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Without the dialect that scene goes from brilliant to dull real quick. Fargo wouldn’t be the same, and Frances McDormand probably wouldn’t have won an Academy Award.

No Country For Old Men is no exception to the rule.

The punchy dialect drives the film and gives the vast landscapes texture. Also texure-giving is Javier Bardem’s haircut, which lies somewhere in the terrifying chasm between Dorothy Hamill and Prince Valiant.

Throughout the movie,you aren’t always sure if what Tommy Lee Jones just said made any sense, but it doesn’t matter–you’re in Texas in 1980, and of course that’s what he would’ve said. His language rings true to his character, his land, and his story.

A century prior, Joel Chandler Harris grew up listening to the slaves around him and learned their dialect as they told him stories. As someone with a stutter and a stammer, I imagine the respect he had for the smooth-talking storytellers on the plantation was immense.

Either way, he–like the Coen Brothers–understood that the heart of a good story was the way it was told. Thus, the Uncle Remus Tales use dialect through and through.

Some say dialect is offensive and others say it’s preservation. I say it’s moot–it’s good storytelling, and we wouldn’t have this blog without it.

As usual Flannery O’Connor says it best: “The sound of our talk is too definite to be discarded with impunity, and if the writer tries to get rid of it, he is liable to destroy the better part of his creative power.”

Check out co-sponsor Baby Got Books’ review right here, our fancy poster and more information here, and then join us at Wordsmiths, tonight at 6:30! Oh, and bring some dough to buy the book. We’ll pay you back in hummus.

We didn’t really know what we were getting into.

Click here to view the embedded video.

(To take advantage of the ambiance on Saturday, listen to the music on the video as you scroll through the rest of this post.)

I got here around ten this morning expecting perhaps a little bit of a crowd, but nothing out of the ordinary. That was, of course, before the Pan People Steelband showed up. Surprise!

We had storytelling at 11 am, then we moved everything outside for a medley of kids storytelling, adult storytelling, arts, crafts, and–of course–the steel band.

Below are some choice pictures from the day.

It felt like I was back home in Trinidad!

The Official Wren’s Nest Stance On Electric Thumb Pianos: Yes!

I swear Matt is taller than this. Also, the Pan People Steelband played traditional favorites like Justin Timberlake’s “My Love” and Akon’s “Don’t Matter.”

As promised, we had plenty of youth storytelling. I think this one was about Br’er Rabbit marrying a princess.

Audience participation is important, especially if you’re under three feet tall.

Then it was time for the big kids–Donald, one of our Ramblers, told The Wonderful Tar Baby Story.

Even the steelband got into it.

Amelia had the kids do our bidding create traditional Victorian crafts that, coincidentally, can be used to decorate Victorian Christmas parties.

I think most folks had a good time. Especially that little guy in the sunglasses.

After a long weekend with the League of Decency concert and Oakland Cemetery’s totally awesome Sunday in the Park, Team Wren’s Nest is whooped.

Either that, or I have locked the camera with this weekend’s pictures inside my house, while simultaneously locking myself outside of the house. Your pick.

Thus, check back tomorrow for pictures and a recap!

In the mean time, check out reactions from the always trustworthy, terribly astute, and impeccably-dressed Asian Cajuns.

One time Carson asked me how to write a press release and I punched her in the face. Not out of anger, mind you, but out of frustration–I wouldn’t even know where to begin!

Ironically enough, when the Wren’s Nest receives compliments, we’re almost always complimented on our P.R. skills.

It’s funny to me because I think I learned everything I know about P.R. in elementary school–a little thing I like to call “if you don’t know what you’re doing, get someone else to do it for you.” I’ve found out that in the real world, if you’ve got something remarkable, it’s actually pretty easy.

(We’ve got bears and forests in the city! Remarkable!)

Either way, we’re excited for tomorrow night, assuming it doesn’t rain.

And assuming the barbecue doesn’t run out. And assuming the band shows up. And assuming we don’t have too many people. And assuming we don’t have too few people.

Hoo boy.

Here’s Josie with a volunteer, who had a scarf stuck into her waistband the moment she stepped on stage and was then immediately instructed to shake her new tail. Price of fame, folks.  You can also see Donald’s hands on the drum and Akbar lounging appreciatively. Or so I assume.

Check out our Executive Director, hard at work and barefoot. Note: a couple hours later one of the folks in charge nonchalantly referred to Lain as “that young punk who runs the museum”. I think I nearly burst trying to play it cool in the wake of that statement.

I bet you can barely imagine being so thoroughly entertained.

Success! Can’t you just imagine that all those brochures and bookmarks Josie is holding are actually million dollar bills? Me too.

This is the Decatur Mist Fountain, which was right outside of the main tent. For some reason, this fountain is the greatest thing anyone between the ages of 4 and 8 has ever seen.

Our tent and staff, along with Craig, Andalusia’s answer to Lain. No one else got the arms akimbo memo.

And that, friends, was the Wren’s Nest experience at the Decatur Book Festival. Pretty great, huh. And that’s all without even mentioning how great Kinky Friedman was! Goodness.

The Wren’s Nest had a lot going on, so stay tuned to this very blog tomorrow. We’ll update with several posts, chock-full of pictures and snarky commentary.

Nevermind that the day after Labor Day is like the worst one ever labor-wise. We’ve got you covered.

First of all, I want to be the person that writes headlines at the newspaper.

Second, what does a study of baggy britches entail? What kind of field work will this task force be doing?

Let me be the first to offer the Wren’s Nest front porch as a fine spot for watching baggy britches stroll by. West End, our neighborhood, is nothing if not chock-full of colorful under-britches prominently displayed by low-slung baggy-britches.

I, for one, am a baggy britches supporter, but then again, I don’t want to get too political on this blog. I’ll leave that to Creative Loafing.

His name is Matt. And he’s our official Outdoorsman.

While Matt’s picture suggests more “disheveled” than “rugged,” make no mistake–the wilderness of our outdoors acreage will toughen him up in no time.

Matt will be working part time at the Nest for the time being, and he’ll be in charge of everything that goes on across our 2.24 acres.

That includes our concert on October 6th.

In fact, he’s already got some experience–

(On the left, dummy. Remember how great Wren’s Nest Fest was?)

Once a week we plan on letting Matt in to grab some water and maybe a stick of rock candy. He’ll also do a bit of blogging, which affects you, dear reader, on a very personal level.

Welcome to the Wren’s Nest, Official Wren’s Nest Outdoorsman Matt!