An Under-The-Pier Christmas (re-posted from Christmas 2011)

It was just a few days before Christmas and the critters which inhabit the depths of water beneath the St. Simon’s Island pier were not happy. They were in fact getting pretty depressed. They had almost no Christmas decorations to decorate their underwater domain with. Almost everything they had owned had been destroyed or swept out to sea during the Great Storm which had punished the area just a few months ago.

The Great Storm, as they referred to it, had lashed the area above the surface with terrible winds and did much damage. The Great Storm had punished the underwater creatures as well. It had caused such powerful currents to rush through the area that almost all their homes had been destroyed. Many of their friends had even been carried far out to sea. Every few days another old friend would come struggling exhaustedly back telling tales of barely surviving the depths of the great Atlantic Ocean. Why, only yesterday Joey Crab had returned so tired and worn out that he could barely enjoy the excited greetings of his old friends around the pier.

Today, the creatures had suddenly realized that it was almost Christmas day. And as they passed each other coming and going they talked about the lack of decorations for the Christmas celebration. You see each year on Christmas eve and on Christmas day peace is declared among all the inhabitants of the waters surrounding the St Simon’s Island pier. All of them come together on Christmas morning to hear the old story of the birth of the baby Jesus. They congratulate each other on surviving the difficulties of another year. This year’s celebration of fellowship would be special as they would be remembering the Great Storm and honoring the memories of those whom it had carried away. No one knew if those old friends and neighbors had perished or would one day reappear as Joey Crab had done.  

The biggest concern for everyone was where to find Christmas decorations? As the talk went around among the creatures, a fisherman up on the pier accidently dropped his artificial bait and it fell down into the depths of the water. While this wasn’t all that unusual, today it was different. The “bait” was a new, shiny type called a spoon. It was small and not of the kind usually used by fishermen around the pier. As it sank to the bottom it twisted and turned this way and that and the sunlight reflected off it causing it to look almost like a falling star of sorts. As it reflected rays of sunlight off in every direction all the creatures seemed to stop and stare at it… and an idea was born. As soon as it landed, the crab family was there. They hoisted it up on their backs and headed up under the pier as the creatures rushed together excitedly talking. Grandfather crab called out above the din of excited talk, “Okay now, everyone calm down! Calm down, please! There, that’s better,” he said.

“I think we all got the same idea at about the same time, heh?” he asked.  Everyone excitedly agreed. “Now the problem is, how do we get more of these shiny things to use for our decorations?” he asked. Quickly, the crowd began excitedly discussing this and then suddenly an excited voice rose above the din. “Why, we can go up there and get them!” shouted an excited fiddler crab. “And how to you propose we do that?” asked grandfather crab. “Anyone of us sets foot or claw on that pier and we will become shark bait,” he continued. Everyone nodded, as it is well known that the pier is one of the best known sites around for shark fishermen.

Sam Hermit, one of the cousins of Grandfather Crab, called out, “We will need a diversion!” he said. “We will need someone to cause such a ruckus that we can raid the tackle boxes up there on the pier and get the things we need,” He explained. “And I have just the idea,” he said. “They are all congregating up there now for the evening’s shark fishing contest. If we were to hang up one of their lines out there in the channel on something which would move around a lot and mimic a huge shark, then we would be able to sneak up there and get the stuff we want. All the fishermen would rush down to the spot where the one is fighting with what he will think is a monster shark,” he explained.  

An idea popped into Grandfather’s head. “I’ve got it,” he said. “I need about eight volunteers for a dangerous task,” he said. Quickly eight large and brave sea creatures stepped forward. They were an odd collection of creatures to be sure. Some were barnacle covered old crabs while others were slimy looking octopuses. No one doubted their bravery, as all of them were well known members of the Under-The-Pier club, a local club of adventure seeking fellows. “Now,” said Grandfather,” I want you guys to head out there into the channel and very carefully and slowly gather up six or eight of those fishing lines and knot them together. But be careful not to tug on them so that the fishermen think they have a bite or else they’ll jerk on the line and you may get hooked,” he explained. “When I give the signal, then I’ll want you guys to jerk downwards as hard as you can on the tangled lines then let them go. With some luck the fishermen will think they have all caught a giant shark and they will pull against each other. That should keep them occupied for a while,” he grinned.

“No problem,” answered Slick, the club leader. He was an interesting fellow to look at as he had a tattoo of a flying bird on each arm at exactly the same location. When he wanted to entertain people, he would extend his arms and twirl around quickly which made the bird appear to fly in a circle. The club members talked briefly among themselves and then headed off to do their task. Then Grandfather called for a swarm of crab family volunteers. “We need about thirty of you guys to get ready over by that piling,” he said. “When I give those guys the signal and they begin the show, you will scurry up there and all of you lift one of those big tackle boxes and run over the side with it,” he said. Immediately many of the larger and older Crab family members bunched up over by the indicated piling and watched grandfather for the signal to head topside.

Everyone waited anxiously. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Slick sent the message that their mission of gathering and tangling the lines had been achieved. Grandfather lifted a conch shell to his lips and raised one of his arms. With a drop of his arm and a blast from the shell, the club members yanked down as hard as they could on the tangled mess of fishing lines. Even as deep down as the creatures were, they could hear the excited yells and shouts coming from above as the fishermen struggled against their “giant shark”! Grandfather turned to the bunched crabs eagerly waiting at the foot of the piling and raising all of his front arms upwards he shouted,”Go!”. Immediately the bunched crabs surged upwards and quickly gained the edge of the pier. Those who were in the lead had no chance to stop and look around as they were hurled forward by the mass of crabs coming up from below. Soon, one of the oddest sites to ever be seen on the St. Simon’s Island pier occurred. A mass of swarming crabs picked up a large fishing tackle box and simply flowed across the pier and off the other side, leaving behind several shocked and staring pier visitors.   

On Christmas day, the Under-The-Pier community of sea creatures relaxed and admired their pretty decorations as the gently passing currents twirled and otherwise caused the colorful hanging fishing lures and floating bobbers to dance. The community shared the Christmas story together and congratulated each other on surviving another difficult year. They also wished each other a prosperous year ahead and hoped that next year, those of their community who had not yet returned since the Great Storm, might be there to share Christmas with them.

The day after Christmas, the pier visitors lounging around enjoying the sun of another beautiful coastal day were suddenly astounded as a tide of surging crabs mysteriously rose up on one side of the pier and swept a large fishing tackle box onto the pier. Outlined across the top of the lid in small gray stones were two words… Merry Christmas! 

 

 

                           May you have a REALLY MERRY CHRISTMAS! 

 

 

The pier at St. Simon's Island, Georgia... a great place to hang out!

In honor of veterans of all types:

Many Have Served

Many have served this great land of ours,

Standing lonely duty in the long dark hours.

Awaiting the signal of whistle or flare,

To jump off or out; and begin to dare.

To defend, to fight, to live and strive to…

One day return home to this great land of ours.

By Clint Bowman

US Army 1975-1978

 (May God bless the families of those who didn’t come back. And help those who did.)

 *************************

I wrote this for another website but thought I would share it here. If you know a veteran, thank him or her for serving our country as they did their service. Whether in peace time or war time, a veteran's time of service should be appreciated. Those who serve make it possible for the rest of the country to live at peace. cb 

Sam’s Bear Story

Sometimes a writer just gets stuck. He can’t find the fire, the energy, the “light” that guided him before. So he sits. And waits, fiddles around here and there, does nothing notable or worthwhile while he constantly feels a sense of frustration and wasting of time. The pressure seems to build inside him and he mentally starts grasping at floating bits of random thoughts trying to build a story or at least an idea of some sort.  Sort of like the bored and unsuccessful fisherman who begins to shake his line to watch the cork move, hoping that he’ll entice a passing fish to take a try at whatever lifeless bait is hanging there on the end of his lazily dangling line.

That was Sam’s situation this slightly too warm evening as he sat by the small campfire out on the edge of Double Branches Road along the north side of the Okefenokee Swamp. He slowly tapped his small writing pad on his crossed leg and nibbled blankly on his pencil. Two or three bats were staying busy swooping down and then up into the night sky above the fire as they stayed steadily busy zeroing in on passing mosquitoes and other small and too slow flying insects. Out in the nearby cypress pond, the sound of some small critter rummaging around in the edge of the water came and went. “Probably a ‘coon,” he thought.

Gradually Sam’s eyes began to grow heavy as his unsuccessful attempt to come up with a story idea for his next newspaper column went steadily downhill. He still had a couple more days before he had to get his story turned in for the local weekly newspaper. Still, he hated to be running so late in coming up with an idea. “Usually I have a whole list of ideas floatin’ round in my head… but not now,” he sighed to himself.   

Sam’s distracted and frustrated thinking, as well as the natural calming and sleep inducing effect of a good meal eaten out under the stars all probably led to Sam not realizing that the previous coming and going of the  little critter over around the cypress pond had stopped. In fact, all the little night noises of one kind and another had ceased. But Sam was too engrossed in his mentally draining attempt to think his way into a story idea to notice.

 Sam sat leaning back against a conveniently located stump. He was staring carelessly towards the cypress pond, itself partially hidden over behind about fifty yards of broom straw grasses and occasionally poking up little trees of one kind or another. From his seat, Sam could see the upper parts of the darkened trees across the tops of the grasses. The grasses themselves, beginning just a few short yards away, formed a kind of wavy darkened brown wall with yellowish tips moving softly in the evening breeze. Sam’s eyes slowly seemed to focus on a darker spot in the brownish grasses. A large darkened spot… with a longish nose protruding from the center of it with a couple of white tipped teeth showing just below it…

Suddenly, Sam’s previous boredom was gone! His stomach tightened up unbelievably tight! His mouth went completely and immediately dry with his tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of his mouth. His breath slowly and forcefully blew through the rounded hole of his mouth as he tried to slowly scoot up the side of the stump. A bear!!   His hand now tightly gripped his pencil. He threateningly held it out in front of him as if it was an Indian war club. His notepad in the other hand now a war shield. His knees, the drumming of the village war drum. A bear! His mind raced, his eyes burned from the campfire’s smoke which now seemed to have become the bear’s ally.

And then, he was gone! Sam, now standing on top of the stump… his war chariot, war club at the ready, waited for what he was sure would be a flanking attack by the swamp creature. His burning eyes swung here and there, searching frantically for the threat. The sweat, unnoticed before, made its presence known as it ran down both sides of his face and head.  He quickly jabbed a left finger up to his ear to wipe out the sweat…the better to hear his secretive stalker! Then his right hand went up to do the same… and he howled a cry of pain as he feel sideways off his stump while turning his head to stare with a mixture of fear and anger at the offending pencil which had just launched its secret attack against the side of his head! It bore its bloodied tip as proof of its treachery.

He landed on the ground with a solid whump! His breath left him, his lungs now turned traitor as well. Wildly he tried to scrabble up, sucking for breath, swinging his head this way and that for the threat he feared was closing on him quickly! Nothing. No bear. Nothing. He turned a complete circle, now recovering his breath and beginning to calm down, he realized that… at least for now… he was still alive and not being attacked. Then he heard it….off in the distance… the sound of loud splashing of water as the bear now ran for its life out across the shallow cypress pond, seeking to escape the man it had accidently stumbled upon as it followed the scent of the roasted corn from Sam’s supper.

And Sam? After some time to recover his emotions and tend to his “battle” wound… he settled down to write a fictitious story…based on proven fact, he later said while enjoying a cup of coffee around the stove at the Tebeauville General store. The story? It was about a grizzled battle scarred old swamper and Indian fighter who courageously fought off an attack by, not one but two, bears as they sought to enter his cabin out along the edge of the great Okefenokee Swamp.

                                                                                     The End

Tebeauville no longer exists today. It has been replaced by the modern town of Waycross, Georgia. The swamp is still there and still has black bears around its edges and plenty of raccoons as well. Double Branches Road is there as well… if you know how to find it. cb

Black Bear Fact Sheet | Georgia DNR - Wildlife Resources Division

   

Sally Starfish Makes a Friend

This is one of several stories for children you can find in  my eBook "Lucas the Squirrel and Friends" available online in the Kindle store at Amazon. cb

Sally had been feeling very down and sad lately. As a result of this she had been hanging around her family’s home in Rock Village near the East End for almost a whole week without going out into the neighborhood.  The reason for all of this sadness was that her best friend, Willy Crab had traveled to Jekyll to live with his family over there. And since Sally was a very shy starfish, she felt that she would never have another friend the rest of her life. She was so sad and lonely.

Sally’s mom had been encouraging her to go out and greet whatever neighbors she might encounter around the neighborhood. Mom Starfish knew that Sally was a sweet young girl and if she just tried, she would soon have another good friend. After some serious coaxing Sally gave in and agreed to go hang out at Rock Top Park where the other younger sea creatures usually hung out. So out the door she went and up to the park she climbed.

It wasn’t long before a few of the neighborhood Crab family kids came by and said hello as they passed on their way to some adventure or other. Sally thought, ”That is what crabs always seem to be up to…adventure. While we starfish just sit around and wait on life.” She sighed deeply and drifted over to sit in the dark shade of one of the few seaweed clumps that anchored themselves around the top edge of Rock Top Park.

It was while she was sitting there hoping that someone friendly would drift by that she heard a wee tiny voice crying out for help! Then she saw that a fishing line was angled down behind were she was sitting and seemed to be passing right down behind Rock Village. As she was watching and wondering what was going on she realized that the fishing line was moving as if the fisherman up on the pier was pulling it in. Then she suddenly saw, down deeper towards the bottom, the end of the fishing line with its sinkers and hooks and bright little red balls coming towards her… and tangled up in the line was a small little bright red starfish!

Almost without thinking Sally reached a tentacle out and snaring the fishing line she pulled it into the seaweed clump beside her! As the hooks came up they lodged firmly in the seaweed. Quickly she scooted down to help the little red starfish untangle himself. Just in time as he came unwound, the fisherman gave a mighty tug on the line and up it shot towards the surface! And just as quickly, Sally grabbed a red tentacle and quickly scooted into the safety of the seaweed clump with the now rescued starfish.

“Thanks a lot!” he said as she released his tentacle and they settled into the safety of the clump. “You’re welcome,” she said. “So…, who are you?” she hesitantly asked. “I’m Lil’ Red Starfish of the Far East End Starfish family,” he said. “But, my friends just call me Lil’ Red for short.” “Hi,” she said, ”I’m Sally Starfish of Rock Village. We live just near here,” she said. “Well, I sure appreciate you helping me get away from that fishing line, Sally. He about had me! I was just scooting by looking to see who I could meet to hang out with today and that old line just came right up beside me and the next thing I knew I was tangled up in it real good! Boy, I was scared!” “Well, I didn’t have much time to think about it,” she said. ”I just knew you needed help fast and the first thing I thought of was trying to snag the line so you could get free.”

With that start to their conversation, Lil Red and Sally wound up talking for so long in the shade of the seaweed clump that Sally’s dad finally came to the park and called for her to come home for supper.  Lil Red and Sally agreed that the next morning they would meet back at the park and continue their discussion. When  Sally returned home, her mom knew immediately that she was no longer without a friend from the happy little tune Sally was singing as she began to help her set the table.

After the family sat down to eat Mom asked, “So… Sally, how was the park today?” “Well I may not be an adventurous crab, but I had an adventure today she began…” And for the rest of mealtime she told her parents of her new friend Lil Red and the story of the tangled line. 

                                                                            The End

Old Star & the Cowboy

Sweat. A lot of sweat. And it was running down the back of my neck and down the middle of my back. And in the midst of all the noise of the arena and the tension and gut grinding fear I was feeling, for some reason... it was the feel of the ticklish sweat which my mind seemed to be trying to focus on. And that was just plain crazy. Old Star was a dangerous animal and the fear I felt was for a good reason. “Concentrate! Come on….do it” I silently yelled at myself.

This old bull had already put two of my fellow bull riders off the circuit this year. Sam is still going through rehab down in McAllen. He is trying to recover the feeling in his left arm from the crushing he took up against the stall gate from Old Star at the Triple T ranch as they tried to load the old bull for a trip to the Mesquite rodeo. It took five of them to lasso and pull the old bull away from Sam far enough for Slim to haul him up and over the top to safety.  And Billy Williams got spun off and into the clown’s barrel at the Fort Small rodeo. It was ugly. They say he may be able to ride in 2-3 months. As I tried to settle down onto Old Star’s back, the memories of what he had already done to Sam and Billy slipped back into my mind with such force that I seemed to see Billy’s face there before me briefly with the blood spurting out of his mouth and nose all over again. I had to shake my head hard to get the image out.

Suddenly… the noise of the crowd is silenced! I look up and they are still there… standing, pointing, mouths open and appearing to be shouting… yet, everything is eerily quiet around me. Tom, who is helping me by holding one arm protectively in front of me as I settle down is saying something….I can see his mouth moving but I don’t hear a thing! I know the announcer is announcing me and saying stuff…but I can’t hear him. Actually, I do but his voice is so far away I can’t make it out. The bull’s head seems to be moving up and down in slow motion… even Tom seems to be in slow motion! I slap my gripping hand hard, put my free hand up on the top bar and look briefly at Tom…I still can’t hear him… but I see his mouth and I realize he is asking me if I am ready. I nod a couple of hard times and tuck my chin down tight to my chest. Here we go!

Thinking back on it now, it seems that Old Star exploded under me kind of sideways instead of turning and vaulting out into the arena as he would be expected to do. And the noise of the crowd seemed to explode around me at the same time. Everything seemed to happen all at once! Old Star exploded outwards to the side, the noise exploded all around me, and I heard Tom yelling “Stay tight!” and “He’ll turn right!” I distinctly remember him saying those things. Old Star didn’t turn right. He exploded out. The violence of his exit of the shute was greater than any bull’s I have ever ridden. He landed stiff legged and the jarring hurt me from my tail bone to the top of my head which felt that it would come off. I knew I had to stay on for the whole eight seconds to get into third place. I also knew so many had crashed out of the competition that all I had to do was stay on and I would be in the money. I also knew this animal could and would hurt me bad. I remember thinking that as long as I stayed on, he wouldn’t be able to run me down. I decided I’d hang on as long as I could…maybe he’d get tired and just walk off and I would be able to climb off onto the fence as he walked by it. Looking back on it now, I realize how dumb that sounds but as I was being jarred into hurtin’ pieces and seeing the starts in front of my eyes as my head felt it was going to come off, it made perfect sense.

Old Star landed with the thud of an earthquake’s strength. My right hand went numb gripping the rope. I tried to give a kick or two with my left leg but Old Star seemed to suddenly switch ends and my left leg couldn’t find any bull to kick. I remember being puzzled by that and wondering where the bull’s side was. Then my left leg connected… with my right leg! I realized suddenly that the only part of me still connected to Old Star was my right hand tightly entwined in the riding rope. And I remember how long Old Star’s body looked as I seemed to float slowly up above him looking down the length of my right arm.   And then the crash!

The last thing I clearly remember was the rush of Old Star’s back suddenly shooting straight up at my face and my riding hand smashing into my forehead. I have some fuzzy memories of some cowboys dragging me through the  dirt and then a bull’s slobbering snorting face showing itself through the bars of a gate…then I remember being in an ambulance and someone asking me my name. I clearly remember telling the EMT guy that he should call Sam and ask him if we could go fishin’.  That’s all I can remember of that night.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Well, you ready to go fishing?” Sam asked. “Yeah, hold on, this sling is pulling too hard on my wrist. I’ve got to adjust something here,” I answered. “Well, hurry up… we have to get down to the pond before the nurses figure out we aren’t here for physical therapy this morning,” Sam said. “If they see us slipping out, they’ll give us what-for.” “I’m coming, Sam, I’m hurryin’,” I answered, grabbing up my reel and rod and heading out behind him. “How long before we get out of here, Sam?” “Well, best I can figure… I have to be able to feed myself with this bum hand and you have to be able to tell them who you are without reading your name tag.” “Oh, well that won’t be too long then… by the way, do they have any rodeo’s here?”

 The End

cb

One of my favorite things to do in South Georgia is to attend the fall rodeo in Waycross. It is usually held in August at the fairgrounds and features locals as well as  cowboys from around Georgia and north Florida. It is a good family friendly event and worth the trip.
As usual the chracters in this story are fictional and the events are made up just for the fun of the story... though my grandmother Orvin did have an old cow named Star when I was a young child and I was scared of her...she often kicked and always seemed to keep an eye on me when I was around her.
cb 

Junior Mockingbird Learns to Fly

The sharp eyed Mockingbird sat alert atop the eight foot tall 4x4 post which served as the end point of the grapevine in Papa’s backyard. He was totally focused. His sharp eyes had detected the twitching tail of a gray and white striped house cat easing along the far side of the board fence separating Papa’s yard from his neighbor’s yard. It was the slow deliberate movement of the twitching tail which could be seen through the inch wide cracks in the fence. Father Mockingbird had a reason to be sharp eyed today. His son, Junior, was attempting to learn to fly and Father Mockingbird was on high alert as he scanned the area for possible threats to his son. Junior had already left the nest and was now sitting down on the ground beneath the grapevine trying to still the racing of his heart… the half fall, half flying descent he had just completed from the safe and familiar confines of his parents well built nest in the lower reaches of the nearby  dogwood tree had really been exciting!    

Just as father was watching over Junior, so was Mother Mockinbird. And, unfortunately for Nat the Cat she was perched up on top of the high gatepost toward which Nat was creeping. Nat wasn’t sure what was going on in Papa’s yard today, but he had sensed the excitement and heard the cries of the mockingbirds as they had called encouragement to their half falling, half flying son earlier. And his keen eye had detected Father Mockingbird sitting up on the end of the grapevine. Nat knew something was up! But , he was so focused on Father Mockingbird and what might be happening over around the grapevine that he failed to catch sight of Mother Mockingbird and for that bit of oversight, he was about to pay a painful price. Leaning slowly forward, she scanned the area for any additional threats and seeing none - she launched her attack!

As Nat slowly crept forward there was the slightest sound of rushing wind and suddenly he felt the hard rap of Mother’s beak on the top of his head! The suddenness of the attack and the sharp pain of her well aimed peck caught Nat completely off guard! He was startled and so frightened that he jumped up into the air and turned half way around expecting to find some kind of huge animal crashing down on him! Then as he settled back to earth he heard the unmistakable war cry of the attacking mockingbird as she shrieked in again for another pass.  And as he glanced upward to try to locate his fierce attacker, Father Mockingbird sped through the nearby gate and executing a hard right turn, he aimed his beak at the top of Nat’s upturned head and delivered another painful and surprising rap right between Nat’s ears.

Then, as Nat cowered down and tried to consider which way to run, the even louder war cry of Billy Jay Bird joined in the excitement. And that was enough for Nat! He well knew the power and pain of Billy Jay Bird. On many occasions Billy had chased him here and there in the neighborhood and he had no desire for that game to start up again. Turning swiftly, Nat leaped to his feet in an all out run for the safety of a nearby hedgerow of thick azalea bushes and disappeared quickly from sight.

 Victoriously, Father and Mother Mockingbird flew back over to the grapevine. There they saw that Junior had managed to flutter up into the lower reaches of the vine and was about to launch himself in another attempt to fly. Mother offered encouraging cries as Father once again resumed his post watching over the backyard and his soon- to- be flying son. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And nearby, Papa slowly leaned back, smiling and chuckling to himself, as he settled back down to sipping his coffee and enjoying the early morning activities of the neighborhood from his comfortable perch in the swing under the flowering Crepe Myrtle bush in the corner of his backyard.   “I bet old Nat’s got a bald spot on top of his old head now,” he laughed to himself. “He’ll have to learn to stay on his side of the street whenever he hears the mockingbirds and jays talking so much or else he’ll have to start wearing a toupee!”

The End

Confronting the Enemy

I was a scared soldier. “About booger caught,” grandpa would have said. I was young. I was holding an M-16. I had been left to guard an ancient white wooden World War II era building on a cold and windy night. And I had been given four rounds for my weapon. This was not just parking lot duty, this was real. “Do not hesitate to use the security phone and call for help,” the duty sergeant had said. And then he had ridden off, leaving me here on the back side of nowhere with shadows dancing all around. The wind rattled gate of the ten foot tall razor wire topped chain link fence caused my young imagination to suspect teams of Russian special ops guys were slowly sneaking up on me. And then it happened!

On about my tenth round of the building, I heard a noise from within the building itself! I was on the west side and there was one small door with a large glass window in it on this side. The noise was coming from within there! My mouth went dry and my knees begin to shake. I suddenly needed to urinate, badly. My trembling hand locked and loaded the clip into the M-16 almost of its own accord. I slowly started towards the door. The security phone was on the other end of the building by the front door…no doubt, if they had gained access to the building, they would see me try to use it and kill me!

  Metallic knockings came from within the room. “They’re trying to break into the main part of the building!” I thought. I inched up to the door from the side, straining my eyes to look through the window into the darkened interior. Nothing! I could see nothing! But I could hear them, they were there! I had failed! Suddenly… with a huge swoosh and whir the small room seemed to explode with noise!  My finger tightened on the trigger, only for me to discover that the safety was still on!

******************

Weak with relief, I continued leaning against the building and fought the urge to empty my bladder then and there. The battle between the top and bottom of my dried out throat ended in a coughing stalemate. Later, I sheepishly unloaded my weapon and resolved that no one would ever know how close I had come to shooting up the antiquated heating system of an old building.  

CB

This is a true story... it happened in  1975. And yes, it was me.  It was a very cold, lonely night and I was a young 18 year old still-in-training soldier, not long out of high school.  I can not tell you how awfully glad I am that I did not shoot up that old building... I never would have been able to live that humiliation down. This is the first time this story has been publicly told by me. Feel free to laugh...I do....now. :) cb

PLEASE NOTE:

If you try to use the link on the side bar to view my short stories published on Yahoo... I have deleted those posts from there so that I can use them in another location. I did this because I have thoughts of doing an ebook of my short stories (new ones and older ones) sometime in the near future and making that available on Amazon.com. We will see....:) Thanks for checking out my "stuff"! cb

The Rodeo Bull

The Rodeo Bull…

 Big, powerful, and determined,

Even with blunted horns,

 He brings pain and suffering,

To the cowboys who dare,

To challenge his power.

The Rodeo Bull…

Quietly awaits his challenger.

What does he think of,

In the hours and minutes prior,

To the eight long seconds of battle,

Between man and beast?

cb

2/4/2012

Boys and Dancing Snakes

Jim Stewart, aged eight, and his older brother Bobby, aged ten, were usually not on the best of terms. In fact they often had “brother type disagreements”, as their mom was fond of saying. But tonight they were of one mind and it could be described in one word. Scared! They were huddled up in their two man tent pitched out on the back side of their own backyard within sight of their house, but they were scared. They were under attack! By a couple of large snakes! And the boys were so afraid that they couldn’t even yell for help!

It had all began with Jim begging his older brother to camp out with him so he could practice setting up the tent and all the other backyard camping skills he had never had an opportunity to learn. This was important guy stuff! Besides, the annual church campout was coming up at the Mossy Point Baptist Church in a week and he was supposed to participate with the other members of his Sunday School class. And of course, when they had discussed it last Sunday morning he had assured all the other boys that he had camped numerous times already with his brother and dad in the Okefenokee Swamp “many times” and could even “set up my tent blindfolded.” The fact that these lies occurred at church didn’t bother him…what did bother him was that he knew he was clueless and had a lot to learn fast! So with a lot of begging and deal making about doing certain chores for two weeks which Bobby was assigned to on their small farm, he had been able to get Bobby to agree to camping one night with him. Now, just a couple of hours after dark, they were in a mess!

The snakes kept weaving and dancing back and forth outside their tent. As if that wasn’t enough, the wind kept blowing and rattling the drying cornstalks in the nearby field which just made things seem spookier. But worse of all was that the dancing snakes kept striking at the side of their tent! Of course, the boys wanted to crawl out of their trap and run for the house but every time they thought they could make it the dancing snakes would strike the side of their tent again! With the full moon out and the yard security light shining as brightly as it was, the boys were hoping that soon someone would glance out from the backdoor of their house and seeing their situation, come to their rescue.

“Let’s sit back to back so we can watch all sides of the tent, Bobby,” said Jim. “Why?” asked Bobby. "They can only enter through the door and I’ve got that covered with my Barlow knife,” he bravely said. “Okay,” answered Jim in a small quivering not-so-sure voice. “Don’t worry,” Bobby said,” We will be out of this mess soon. I am sure that dad will come check on us before he goes to bed and he’ll kill these stupid snakes.” The boys waited, huddled together, trying as hard as possible to stay away from the flapping sides of their tent trap.

After what seemed an eternity to the two small brothers, they heard the back screen door up at the house squeak as it was opened. “Dad’s coming!” Bobby exclaimed. “Now those blasted ole snakes will get the mess beat out of’em!” Then with almost one voice the two boys yelled, ”Dad! Help us!”

“What’s the problem, boys?” asked their dad, sounding a lot closer already. “Oh my, look at the frogs!” their dad exclaimed, before the boys had time to answer him. “Why ain’t that something, boys? Those old frogs are jumping up against your tent and trying to catch the bugs which are landing on it. Your flashlight is shining through the side of the tent and various insects are landing on the tent trying to get to your light. These frogs are having a feast. Come on out and look at this.”

Both boys quickly crawled out of their tent, neither of them saying much. Their wide eyed glance all around and their dad’s calm demeanor helped them to know that there was obviously no snake within sight. “Frogs, Jim,” stated Bobby, pointing a no longer shaking hand. “Yeah…frogs… how about that, Bobby?” responded the very much relieved Jim. Then, noticing the dancing shadows of the windblown tree nearby, both boys breathed a huge sigh of relief.    

“So, what kind of help do you boys need?” asked their dad. “Oh… uh… well, we were just wondering… since you were walking out from the house anyway… if you would bring us a couple of cokes?” stammered Bobby. “Well,” he answered, ”actually, I was coming to tell you boys that your mom just baked a fresh batch of those chocolate chip cookies ya’ll like. I thought you two might want to come in for a quick snack before bedding down for the night.”

“Yep! Sounds good to me,” called Jim as he took off to catch his already sprinting brother.

“Boys!” laughed their dad as he turned towards the house. “I bet they’ll stay inside and fill up on cookies and not even camp out tonight,” he added to himself.

The wind blew another gust and the shadows danced as the frogs hopped off towards the brightest light they could find to look for another bug meal.

The End

Huey Rescue

I was hunkered down as low to the ground as my hundred and eighty pounds could get. I was scared and sweating like it was July in Georgia. And praying, hard. Only this wasn’t Georgia. The tall dried grasses of the African dry season blew back and forth with the wind. Here and there were shots being fired as individual men fought to stay alive in this confusing mess of an attack on the terrorist encampment.

It had looked so cut and dry in the briefing back at base. We would fly into the LZ in two waves of two flights each. The outdated but efficient Huey helicopters would drop off their eight man loads and then clear the area and circle somewhere to the south waiting for our call to come back in and extract us. It was supposed to be over in just minutes as we would drop out of the choppers and charge across the clearing into the small village made up of eight or so mud block buildings, all small and rectangular in build. They would be caught by surprise and it would end quickly. We knew there were about four or five of the terrorists hiding in this village, after conducting their raid to bring down the communications tower south of the nearby highway.

Only the reality of what was happening didn’t match the carefully laid plans from our previous briefing. The LZ turned out to be about four feet deep in dried grasses which would cut a man if he carelessly broke one and let the broken part slide through his hand. The ground was littered with small fist sized rocks and some bigger, which rolled quickly as your weight went down on them. And some few short years before, the field had actually been someone’s farm and was deeply furrowed. These furrows had been hidden by the now thick grasses and we were caught stumbling over them.  It was slow going for one other reason as well. The enemy had a light machine gun of some kind sitting there in the village and it was steadily cutting the grasses down as the enemy attempted to keep us pinned out there in the heat, dust, rocks, and prayers. And there was a lot of all of it, especially in my vicinity.    

Occasionally the ones manning the gun would shout insults or something at us, hoping to see someone’s head come up to check out what was meant by the shouting. Anytime one of us attempted to crawl forward the odd movement of the grasses we were pushing through gave our position away and the gunner would zero in on that area for a few seconds sending waves of bullets bouncing off the rocks in every direction. It was a mess, plain and simple. We were stuck and needed help in a big way to avoid the numerous serious injuries a straight forward charge into the village would bring us. It came in an unexpected way. A way which left many who had been begging the Lord for help saying, “Thankyou, Jesus!” 

*****************************************

The two Hueys came swooping in from over the hilltop to our right and immediately seemed to have misjudged their landing zone. Both of them in a well coordinated display of superb flying ability  dropped straight down almost onto the small mud block buildings of the village and their turning main rotors immediately kicked up a huge cloud of debris and dust and the village simply disappeared from our view inside the man-made dust storm.

The Captain quickly rallied us forward and as we stumblingly jogged forward the first few men had to cover their own faces to protect their eyes from the debris storm flying out of the circling dust cloud. Both Hueys suddenly lifted quickly straight up into the air high above us and then dropping their noses they shot of away from the village. The machine gunners had abandoned their exposed position leaving their gun in place. Undoubtedly, they had run to protect themselves from the flying debris and taken refuge in the nearest hut. That probably wasn’t much help as half the huts in the village no longer had roofs over them.

All the terrorists were found hiding, some under grain bags trying to shield themselves from the whirring devils which had descended on them. And all of them had dropped whatever weapons they had, in their desperate attempt to protect themselves. Their capture happened quickly and without anymore fighting. Aside from the five men we had been looking for, the village appeared to have been abandoned by its former occupants, no doubt terrified to stay when the terrorists moved in.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Of course, being soldiers, we couldn’t exactly tell the whole truth of the matter. Being saved by a set of hovering Hueys doesn’t sound heroic or manly. So the official description reported to the national papers told of a “multi-national anti terrorism force fighting a determined battle and finally overcoming huge and almost impossible odds to capture the hard fighting enemy force of raiders”.  However, all of us who had benefited from the pilots’ help made sure those boys got all the steak and cold cokes they could hold, free of course. “After all,” explained our sergeant “Next time we might REALLY need their help.”

The End

(I have never been part of such a raid as this, though during my time in the Army many years ago, I did witness a Huey helicopter pilot flush an attacker or two out of hiding under some trees by doing just such a thing. Those poor boys were so blinded by dust and trash that they ran into tree trunks trying to flee. Of course, it was just a war game played at night, but I’ve never forgotten it. And no, I was not one of them.) 

CB

An African Squirrel

I saw in Africa,

A cute little squirrel run up a tree,

Maybe a sight in the distance he wanted to see.

There in Africa,

A cute little squirrel ran up a tree,

And there posed a picture just for me.

Clint Bowman

The Dawn Breaks

Note: This isn't a short story. And I'm not a poet. But this morning, I am missing old friends. God bless'em all! cb

The dawn breaks,

The bulbuls sing their “Time, To, Get up!” song.

The fluttering, flapping doves’ wings signal,

Another round of sorting positions,

Along the eave over the banana tree shaded bird bath.

The dawn breaks,

Night watchmen head home,

Calling morning's greetings and sharing the news,

Thankful another night has passed.

The dawn breaks,

Young girls carry buckets of water,

For a morning bath while,

Little brothers drag limbs for firewood,

For morning tea.

The dawn breaks,

Family prayers are said and father’s tea is served,

Uniformed children leave for school,

Nigeria has awakened.

(For all of us who were there and sometimes miss it. Jan. 2012)

cb