The tailypo folktale is real.

Re-told with historical insights into Appalachian culture and folklore.
It's time for a new generation to enjoy, imagine -- and believe.

Tailypo comes alive...

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It's great for bedtime & campfires

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The book is written with the idea that it will be read aloud in small or large group settings.  It builds the story of the old man, creating a relationship with him for the listener/reader which develops into the harrowing tale of Teh-Li Po.

If you're looking for a scare and family classic which is sure to be remembered for years to come, Teh-Li Po is it.

Preview "Teh-Li Po: An Appalachian Legend"

B.M. Jones, Author
ISBN:  978-0-692-06268-5
Copyright 2018. SRX Enterprises, LLC.

Old tales are buried in the hills.  The story of Teh-Li Po is one of those tales.  It's been passed down for years, ever since the pioneer days.  Maybe it was just a story told to keep children from wondering off into the woods -- or maybe it's true.  It’s the tale of an old man who lived alone.

Deep in the woods.

The old man grew his dirty vegetables in the summer and kept his cabin cozy warm with fire during the winter.  He hunted critters and did some fishing, too, to have enough food.  The old man might have been lonely way out there in the woods if it weren’t for his three dogs, which were all named Enos.  Now it might sound silly to give three different dogs all the same name, but the old timer thought it was downright clever because he could call all three of the dogs by yelling just one name:  “Enos!”


The particular morning on which this tale begins was no different than any other morning.  The old man woke up, got dressed, and chopped some wood for the fire.  When he was done with his chopping, he put the kettle over the fire and spoke to a picture of his dear wife, Betty Ann, as he did every morning.


“It's gettin’ chilly out, Betty Ann,” he said with a smile and raised eyebrows.


He could tell that a cold winter was on the way and his crop of vegetables was pretty thin this year.  The old man went to his cupboard to see what could be scrounged for supper, but found that he had very little.  His stomach grumbled loudly at the sight.


"Food ain't gonna drop from tha sky," he thought, so he grabbed his papaw's old scattergun, a soiled burlap sack, and headed into the woods to hunt for some supper.

The old man walked a long way into the woods, but saw no animals for hunting.  He was starting to get worn out from all the hiking and so decided to sit down for a rest.  He watched the Enos dogs frolick around the forest floor, sniffing here and there.


He hadn’t been sitting for long when something rustled the leaves behind him.  Excited at the idea of having supper, he turned to raise and fire his scattergun at the unlucky critter. . .but it was just a curious chipmunk -- far too small to make a meal.  Disappointed, the old man picked up his things and headed deeper yet into the woods.


Following the meandering crick along the floor of the valley, the old man stopped for a drink.  He cupped his hands and took a few sips of the cool, clear mountain water.  At that moment, he heard a commotion from the Enos dogs.  Panting, sniffing, and pawing at the ground, they had found something and were all huddled around it.


“Wha‘chuns got thar?” the old man hollered, “Git away from thar!” he scolded the Enos dogs, not knowing what they had found, hoping it wasn't a stinking skunk.


It was a grisly sight.


"Look like an ol' possum," the old man thought, "been chewed up pretty good tho' by somethin', an spit back out. . .took nary a bite."


The old man picked up a stick and poked the poor critter, looking it over carefully while shooing his dogs away from it.  The old man knew from his many years in the woods that when coyotes or mountain cats get ahold of a critter, there isn’t much left of it when they're done.  The strange discovery confounded the old man and itt set him to thinking.  It did seem that there were fewer and fewer critters in the forest as of late.  On top of that, it didn’t make sense that coyotes or a cat would let a good possum go to waste.


As the old man stood there in the valley, he looked up at the ridges all around him.  It was starting to get dark and for the quickest moment, the old man couldn’t help but feel like something was watching him -- maybe even hunting him.  He called the Enos dogs and started off for home.

Back at his cabin, the old man added a couple of logs to the fire and soon it was crackling again.  He sat there in the stillness of the evening and cleaned his dirty finger nails with a sliver of wood.  The Enos dogs watched him, softly whining and whimpering.  The old man knew they were probably as hungry as he was by now.
“I know, I know...” he soothed them, “I’m hungry, too.”

He stared into the fire and thought...

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