The Lady in the Pickle Bottle:

A family's oral storytelling tradition

The oldest tale I can remember is one told by my cousin, Paula; however, I didn’t know her name for many years. To me, and the other children in our family, she was simply known as The Pickle Lady. Now that I think about it, she still introduces herself to the children of our family as The Pickle Lady. The Pickl Paula is a wonderful storyteller, and so was her mother, Aunt Lene, and her mother’s mother, my great grandmother, Jewel Hart. In fact, the family is full of great storytellers, but I consider Paula the best. Where others tell great stories, Paula becomes part of the story and brings you along with her.

The tale she brings to life is called “The Lady in the Pickle Bottle.” I’ve tried to trace its origins, and it appears to be an amalgamation of a few folk tales. There are passages which are clearly drawn from “Little Red Riding Hood” and others derivative of “Big Toe.”¹ It also includes familiar motifs like a lady who lives in a peculiar house— in this case a pickle bottle— a threatening animal which wants to “gobble” you up, and a generally dark tone.

“The Lady in the Pickle Bottle” begins like many other tales, once upon a time, and describes an old lady that lived in a pickle bottle with her husband. While gardening, the couple finds a bear’s toe, and the old lady cooks it for their supper. Late in the night, a mysterious visitor arrives, and its haunting voice growls, “I want my toe!” After a terrifying search, a bear is discovered in the chimney and a brief conversation takes place, during which the old lady observes what big eyes he has— what big nose— what big mouth. And of course, the little child-listeners are eaten up by the real-life storytelling Pickle Lady with pinches and finger-waving gobbles, and they— generation after generation of Hart descendants— squeal and beg for it to be told again and again.

For a brief analysis of the “Little Red Riding Hood,” “Big Toe,” and “The Lady in the Pickle Bottle,” I’ll touch on the moral of the stories, their presentation, and how visualized oratory performance changes the perception of each, but first, why did my great grandmother combine the various tales in the first place? Why not just tell the kids about a little girl in red, or a wolf, or a big toe ending up in soup.

The Original Pickle Lady right fresh out the pickle bottle, Jewel Katherine Jones Hart, 1900

Paula told me that Grandma Hart was “the best storyteller”² she knew and performed the story as much as she told it. Maybe, combining folk tales meant she could kill two birds with one stone, freeing up time for other stories or activities— other chores. Regarding the bear’s replacement of the wolf and creature from “Big Toe,” I think it probably had something to do with the region of the South which we live. People there know about wolves, naturally, but there aren’t wolves in Southeast Texas. A scary wolf just isn’t as scary as an animal one might actually encounter— say, a black bear. I’m also unsure if my Southern Baptist great grandmother would have thought the zombie-like creature from “Big Toe” was appropriate. If not, a bear could act as a vehicle for the intended message without violating religious norms. Of course, all of this is speculation. It’s just as likely she was simply being creative and wanted to put her own spin on tired tales.

I’ve read several interpretations of “Little Red Riding Hood” which present lessons for the preparation of young girls’ development into womanhood³, and with respect to “Big Toe,” there are practical and moral lessons related to one’s communal behavior and diet. Specifically, a reinforcement of the responsibility one must accept for the theft of something which doesn’t belong to them, especially if that something is food. Grandma Hart’s story, “The Lady in the Pickle Bottle” offers a couple of lessons: watch out for bears and be careful what you eat. I guess it’s possible that a Feminist analysis of literature might pull moral threads which correlate with a hierarchical system where marital roles favored a stereotypical early and mid-twentieth century patriarchy, but that’s something another paper can chew on. Where talking about a bear’s missing toe here.

In my opinion, the actual moral of “The Lady in the Pickle Bottle” is that good stories should be available to children, spooky stories make the best ones, and finally, if you’re going to tell and tale, you better tell the tale great. In that vein, I think the story, and others like it affected the pre-digital society by encouraging creativity, familial relationships— particularly maternal relationships— and fun. I mentioned this analysis would briefly examine the visual oratory performance of storytelling— in other words, its presentation.

The most obvious difference between reading a story and having it told to you is that if you’re being told a story, you can sit back and just take it in. Though some creative autonomy is lost when listening to a story instead of reading it, what is gained is a completely unique and uncanny experience. For “The Lady in the Pickle Bottle” there was a physical performative aspect to its telling. When I asked Paula to write the story down for me and provide an anecdote about its origins, her transcription included the following instruction: “pinch the kids to gobble them up while they are screaming!” I remember her doing this when she assumed the mantle as our family’s Pickle Lady.

Phonologically speaking, Paula is relatively high-pitched and has a welcoming and jovial tone, and her speech pattern is usually presented at an excitable tempo perfectly suited for the telling of tales to little children. My version would be darker and scarier I feel and probably not want to be heard over and over again, but Paula is able to shift her voice and demeanor between the old lady and the bear effortlessly. This adds a whimsical flare to the story and garners the squeals and giggles of excited children. And as her instructions dictate, pinches are always on the table if whimsical flare falls flat.

Finally, the effects of visual storytelling (play, film, etc.) on the perception of an audience are as significant as those related to listening versus reading. Watching a story— seeing it enacted— allows the observer to sit back and take in a message without exerting much creative energy. As with listening, there’s a loss of interpretive and creative autonomy because the observer is shown a message the performer(s) want them to see. I haven’t studied the physiological differences in reading, listening, or watching a story unfold, but surely, they exist. But again, that’s something for another paper to chew on. We’re still talking about chewing on a bear’s toe here.

The Pickle Lady and Me

There are certainly many beloved variations of “Little Red Riding Hood” and “Big Toe” that convey moral truths while bringing joy to children; however, for myself, I’ve always been partial to The Pickle Lady’s story over any other. But that’s not really surprising, now, is it? I like pickles— ballpark, dill, and kosher— not sweet— and I’m partial to my cousin, The Pickle Lady. And I think she performs the story as well as anyone ever could. So, I’ll leave those other, lesser, tired tales to everyone else and take “The Lady in the Pickle Bottle” for my pinches and gobbles whenever I can.

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Editorial note: This essay was originally submitted online for a journal assignment in LIT-229-X1859 at Southern New Hampshire University on 3 Oct 2023.

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1. “Big Toe.” Scary For Kids, 10 May 2012, www.scaryforkids.com/big-toe/.

2. Williamson, Paula. Received by J. Aaron Courts, The Lady in the Pickle Bottle, 2 Oct. 2023.

3. Thury, Eva M., and Margaret Klopfle Devinney. “Folktale and Myth.” Introduction to Mythology: Contemporary Approaches to Classical and World Myths, Oxford University Press, New York, 2017, pp. 641.