CREATURE FEATURE
This month's Creature Feature comes with a side of Horsey Sauce.
Giddy up! Introducing… the kelpie! And not the dog. Think more aquatic. Think more equine. Okay, think less seahorse. Now think more seahorse. Got it? Whatever, just keep reading.
A myth to take a Michigander at.
Journey, if you will, to the northern Midwest town of Rhinelander, Wisconsin. In the late 1800s, Anderson Brown traveled from Stevens Point up to the nexus of the Wisconsin and Pelican Rivers. The high banks and towering pines made Brown’s imagination soar with the possibilities of opening… a lumber mill! Hey, people weren’t too imaginative back then. But, once Anderson convinced his daddy to give him money, the town of Rhinelander was born.
A tale that's anything but blue.
You can’t talk about Paul Bunyan without his trusty sidekick and confidante, Babe. Legend has it that Paul stumbled upon baby Babe stuck in a snow drift during a frigid Minnesota (or Michigan or Maine or Wisconsin or Nova Scotia) winter. He took the teeny ox home, fed him and warmed him up, but Babe kept his newfound hue—because as we all know, snow is, and stains you, blue. Babe stayed with his adopted companion and grew with his legend.
The horniest of all legends.
It’s uncommon to have an animal in our vast kingdom that is so bizarre, some people don’t think it exists until they see a picture. For many, the narwhal is that creature. That’s why it’s this month’s creature feature, and in fact why its beautifully weird form graces the fabric of one of the flagship Folklord Myth Shirts. But to track the origin of these guys, we have to look well beyond Folklord apparel. We need to journey Medieval Times—grab the Cornish hens and meet us there!
The legend goes by many names, but only one foot size.
Bigfoot? The Yeti? Ol’ Hairy Feet? (Last last one's made up.) Sasquatch is a front-runner of common-knowledge folklore. Perhaps the cryptid poster child if we could be so bold. It’s impossible to walk in the woods—especially in the PNW—without the slight inkling that you may run into this legendary missing link. He seems to be as perennial as the trees on our trails, as elusive as the wind. But we all know about him. So where did this guy get a foothold on our collective folktale psyche?
