The importance of folklore in the 21st century

Storytellers in the Scottish Highlands teach us about connecting to each other and the earth through the oral tradition.

The scene before me is not entirely unlike what I imagine evenings in the Scottish Highlands might have looked like hundreds of years ago. Settling in next to my fellow hostel mates, my eyes fall first on the flames growing in the heath, then on the sharp outline of trees snaking the Loch Ness coastline against the darkening night sky.

The woman seated nearest the fire begins to speak, her voice soft but commanding as she opens her hand to reveal a cluster of scarlet-colored berries. With an artfulness possessed only by the most seasoned storytellers, she begins to paint a picture of the fruit’s source, the Rowan Tree— an ancient protector against malicious witchcraft whose branches bridge the spiritual and physical worlds.

Oral storytelling has a deep-rooted history in the rugged Scottish Highlands, where tight-knit communities were historically essential for survival. The practice was suppressed during the colonization of the region, namely through the banning of the Gaelic language and demonization of Pagan spirituality, but today, storytellers are leading efforts to revive the tradition, introducing travelers and locals alike to the forgotten stories and ancestral wisdom of the Highlands.

During fireside folklore sessions and on guided “lore walks”, storytellers offer a glimpse into how Highlanders of times past related to the world around them. Some stories leaned more fantastical, like the ones about the mischevous, fickle fairies who were often to blame when shiny objects went missing, or the one-eyed Calleach, giant goddess of earth and hidden realms able to control the weather with her staff. Other stories served more practical purposes or taught important life lessons. One legend tells of the demise of two men who met their fate at the hands of the very land they tried to assert ownership over, cautioning against greed and ego, while parables about dangerous, mythical creatures taught children about real-life risks in the often-hazardous Highland landscape.

Listen to a handful of these stories, and you’ll quickly realize that the forests, lochs, and glens are just as much characters as they are settings. They act with agency, just as humans do. They teach us that people aren’t the only ones with wants, needs, and goings-on, and enforce the idea that we are all inextricably connected to and dependent on one another.

I’ve not stopped thinking about these storytellers and their work since I left the Highlands. I think it's because, for the first time in the Western world, I encountered this sort of consideration for the natural world. As one storyteller explained at the top of a snowy Creag Dhubh, a thermos of wild heather tea warming our hands, “The stories teach us that the land does not belong to anyone, but that we are of the land.” How far we’ve strayed from this way of thinking.

I also wonder what it would look like if we started telling children folklore stories again.

Would they begin to see themselves as one part in a greater ecosystem of humans, rivers, and animals, rather than sovereigns entitled to their whims to the extent money allows? Would it inspire curiosity, creativity, and conscientiousness at a time when our lives are becoming more automated, disconnected, and, well, numb? Would knowing that a story wouldn’t be written down and saved teach us to value it and the person telling it to us more?

Our ancestors depended on the earth and each other to survive. We need to start talking about them and sharing their stories again.

The storytellers mentioned here were Caoimhe Keohan and Aila Shafer. If you’re visiting the Scottish Highlands, I highly encourage you to check out their offerings or other storytelling experiences, such as Storylands Sessions and Strathspey Storywalks. Small tourism businesses are the best tourism businesses!