Early 1800's along the southern frontier! Dealing with alligators, Indians, and other troublesome critters can lead to REAL adventure...check it out.

My eBook of adventure short stories. If you love the Okefeenokee Swamp and adventures set in the early 1800's, you will like these short stories.  It is available here:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008ZA3QNU?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Check it out!!

The Christmas Cardinal

(Having lived in Africa for about 17 years at one point in my life, I have heard many stories of people who had life-like dreams and visions of seeing and hearing Jesus Christ speak to them. One of those stories is of a young girl kidnapped and left to die in the Sahara. She tells that every night a man in white came to her. He fed her and encouraged her. She was eventually found and survived. I guess she still lives in North Africa somewhere. So this fictional story written in prose form isn't too far of an imaginative stretch.) God bless! cb

Have you heard the story of the Christmas Cardinal?

It’s a story of remembrance and promise,

A story from the depths of wilderness history,

Of one more way that God says, “I love you.”

I met an old man on an island in the swamp,

He told me a story which he had heard as a child.

He had lived deep in the Okefenokee then,

And knew nothing of whites or blacks.

He said that during an ancient time of much suffering,

The People thought they had been forgotten by their Creator.

The suffering seemed to never end.

First drought and fire, then famine came.

Their small tribe seemed on the edge of death’s door,

That cold night as they sat around their fires.

Then He came walking in from out of the midst,

A man wearing white clothes with a gentle face!

He said,” Your cries have been heard, you will survive.

I have come to give you peace.

And tell you that my Father cares,

About you, each and every one.”

“At mornings light in the red flowered bush,

You will see a sign.

A red colored bird,

A sign of the blood I shed long ago for all mankind.”

 “Remember my promise,

 Always look to my Father,

 Let any suffering the world brings,

 Cause your hearts to seek Him.”

“Live in peace in this beauty,

Tell your children of the Father’s Love.

That Someone died for them long, long ago,

So the trail to the Father could be opened for them.”

As He slowly walked away into the midst,

He said, ”Remember the sign, look for the red colored bird.

 Always remember you are not alone,

There is the Promise.”

The old man said that when daylight came,

All the people could clearly see a red colored bird,

Sitting among the green leaves and red flowers of a bush,

And then they saw their fish nets shaking in the nearby waters!

Finally, they had food again!

Each day as they saw the red colored bird,

They would stop, look to heaven,

Then touch their hand to their heart and say “Thank you”.

I told the old man, ”That bird is called a Cardinal.”

The old man just smiled gently and said quietly,

“He is called the Promise bird among my people.

And we look forward to the day, when we will not need him anymore.”

Then he stepped into his dugout,

 Gave a slow shove with his pole,

And seemed to slowly disappear,

 Into the swamp’s morning mist.

I thought long and hard,

About the story he told me.

And realized that God had sent His Son

 In a way they could understand.     

I guess that is what He did for us, also.

When men wrote the story of that night so long ago,

When shepherds gathered and angels sang,

And the Promise Child was born.

                           

Watercolor by Clint Bowman (painted in 2013)

Clint Bowman

Dec. 2015

Merry Christmas! 

The Magic Honey Stump

There is a story which, from time to time, floats about here and there through the hanging mosses of the great Okefenokee Swamp. A story of giant bees guarding a magic stump which produces the sweetest honey ever tasted by man. It’s said to be a sweeter honey than that of the Biblical Promised Land spied out by Joshua and Caleb so long ago.

The story goes that once in the days before the Great Depression a swamper stumbled upon this stump on an unnamed island far out in the interior of the great swamp. He was a simple man, used to life’s simple pleasures and well acquainted with the joys of honey. Yet, when he tasted this honey which seeped from the stump, he fell to his knees in shock. Soon, however, he realized that he needed to gather as much as he could to take back home to share with his wife and family. This he did quickly, forgetting all else that day.

His wife, after tasting the pure sweetness of the honey, urged him to quickly return to the depths of the swamp and bring as much honey as he could. They hoped to begin selling it in nearby Waycross, Georgia, and become wealthy.

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

The swamper returned to the island deep in the Okefenokee with barrels, jars, and buckets and began gathering the honey. However, the temptation to enjoy its delicious taste got the best of him. Soon, he was propped against a tree with a full belly and a very serious need to sleep.

Early the following morning, he was awakened by the sound of a heavy buzzing and drumming sound vibrating across the foggy dew soaked Okefenokee. Rising, he witnessed a very scary sight! A swarm of bees was crossing the nearby water-logged prairie coming directly at him! And these were the largest bees he had ever seen! Almost man-sized!

With a youthful quickness he had not felt in many years, the old swamper rushed to his dugout and pushed off to flee the approaching horde. Barrels, jars, and buckets were forgotten. His only thought was to flee quickly and he did. Looking back, he saw the large bees begin to circle the magic stump and then they began to land here and there about the place.

The next day, the old swamper returned to the island in the company of a good friend who was a bee keeper. The friend had assured him that the bees could be dealt with safely. However, as they approached the island’s location, they found it completely hidden within a thick cloud of fog. The fog was so thick that not even the edges of the island were visible. Slowly, the two friends gently pushed their dugout into the cloud of fog and soon bumped into the land’s edge. 

They searched here and there for what seemed hours but the location of the magic stump was hidden by the fog and they could not find it. Toward evening, they left the island. Since that day many others have sought this magic stump. None have found it. The fog has never left the island not even on the hottest July day. Some have spent days lost, wandering around the island’s interior only to finally find their way to the water’s edge battered and bruised. No one has ever again seen or tasted the sweetest honey ever tasted by man.

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

The old swampers say that on some of the foggiest of swamp mornings, before the red winged blackbird begins to call and after the last of the owls says goodnight, a vibrating humming drumming type of sound can be heard echoing among the blackgums and cypress. But the sound usually is only briefly heard then all goes quiet and the creatures of the swamp begin their good morning choruses.

                                                                           

                                                                           THE END

By Clint Bowman

Dec 2015

The Answered Prayer

(Reading level: grade 7.9)

Knife in hand, he charged me! Heart pounding in my ears,throat sticky dry, I faced him more afraid of dying than I had ever been before. I spread my feet slightly and dropped my empty hands, fingers spread wide, wishing for a weapon. He closed the distance quickly and thrust his knife at my stomach! I slapped widely desperate to avoid the quickly moving blade! Suddenly, my focus sharpened… I realized that he had stepped too far forward! I kicked viciously at his exposed knee making solid contact!

 His faced registered a sudden look of shocked pain and he almost fell to one knee before catching himself. It was obvious he was hurt. He slowly waved the knife, almost defensively, back and forth as his eyes darted here and there showing his uncertainty. The tables had now turned slightly in my favor. Though he was injured, he was still well armed and dangerous.

He suddenly shifted his gaze; his eyes grew wide as he looked across my shoulder towards the sudden sound of a rapidly advancing helicopter. The rapid reaction team was arriving aboard a low flying, dust stirring Blackhawk helicopter! My frightened, whispered call for backup had been heard.

He began to hobble awkwardly backwards. Turning, he hoped to make his escape. I spotted a nearby chunk of mortar and mud block fallen from the disintegrated wall of what had been my hiding place as I spied on their movements through the town. Grabbing it up, I loosed it at his retreating head! My aim was true and down he went, stunned.

Running towards him, as he struggled to regain his footing, I scooped up another and smashed it into the back of his head with a short hard throw. Down he went, momentarily too stunned to resist. I jumped on his back and quickly pulled his arms around and secured them with one of my black plastic ties.  With one hand I grabbed his shirt high on the back and with the other his knife. Dragging him, I lurched back against a remaining corner of the now destroyed building, seeking cover from other possible unfriendly eyes. Tripping on rubble, I fell to a seated position and pulled my prisoner up in front of me with the knife to his throat to encourage his cooperation. Now we waited.

The helicopter had disgorged its human cargo at the nearby intersection, the troopers quickly fanning out and getting under cover. It lifted off, its rotor wash creating a storm of rocks, sand, and debris as it passed very closely overhead. I shielded my eyes at the back of my enemy, as he served as a buffer against the angry storm. As the noise and dust cleared, I looked up into the tense sweaty faces of my first arriving rescuers. I realized that one more time, the Good Lord had chosen to spare my life.

With a grateful heave, I shoved the prisoner up towards the outstretched hands of Sergeant Wilson and Corporal Smith. Scrambling to my feet, I gratefully stumbled across the rubble as we headed back for the intersection to board the now returning helicopter. Through my mind flashed a long suppressed memory of my mother, her Bible in her lap sitting at the kitchen table. I remembered her words from long ago, “Lord, please protect him wherever he goes.”

Cb

The Little Brown Snake (2nd edition)

(Average reading level of this story is: grade 8.3) 

My canoe slid quietly through the swamp waters. Bright green lily pads submerged themselves beneath its bow. As I passed a stand of black gums, a couple of red winged blackbirds seemed to be having a discussion over something. I am sure it was very important to them.

 I was trying, as best I could, to sneak up on a black bear. I had spotted it prowling along the bank of a nearby island here in the Okefenokee Swamp.  With a little luck, I would be able to get a good photo of a foraging black bear as he ripped into an old rotted log looking for possible mice, honey, or some other delectable bites of food. He had already destroyed at least one old piece of long downed pine on the south end of the tiny island. Even now as I approached, I could hear him trashing up the small interior of the island. The tops of small trees and tall bushes waved back and forth marking his progress. He prowled through the length of the interior of the little strip of dry land. It was barely six inches above the level of the surrounding swamp waters.

As I silently approached the area, I decided to wait behind a few low hurrah bushes with their green leaves and red berries. I wondered if maybe at some distant time in the past some of Billy Bowleg’s Seminoles had lived on this particular island as they raided the nearby settlements of south Georgia. 

It was probably due to this type of day dreaming, that I didn’t notice the odd looking branch of the hurrah bushes as I eased the bow of my canoe into them to steady it from drifting. Had I actually been paying attention, I would easily have noticed that one of those branches was a little bit too fat and wrinkled here and there along its length. I would also have noticed that the bear I was sneaking up on was suddenly quiet.

Suddenly, a mouse exploded from out of the base of some grasses growing there just a few yards from where I was hidden in my hurrah bush nest! Unfortunately, this particular mouse was running for his life! Crashing out of the underbrush behind him followed the bear! And he was headed straight for me!

 Of course, this was a bit of a surprise! I immediately began to furiously shove my paddle against the base of the hurrah bushes attempting to get away from the desperate mouse and his hungry companion… and this was more than the sunning snake in the hurrah bush could stand. His desperate dive into the swamp’s waters was unfortunately interrupted by the bow of my canoe. Instead of him getting safely away into the surrounding field of lily pads to watch the action, he was suddenly slithering desperately downhill toward the back of my canoe… and me!

Only after I had jumped out of the canoe and was standing waist deep in swamp water feeling my feet slowly sink into the miry bottom did it register on my very excited mind that the snake desperately attempting to leave the canoe and join me in the water was nothing but a simple banded water snake….not the poisonous water moccasin I had assumed him to be! My next realization was that the bear had come to a dead stand still in the water and was looking across the fifteen or so yards between us with a quizzical look as if to say ”Where in the world did you come from?”

Then, as suddenly as it all happened, it was over. The snake found my life vest and climbing up onto it, he was able to get his upper body quickly over the canoe’s side and into the water. Away he quickly swam. As I saw this, I heard the bear give a snort. Looking up quickly, I saw him turn in a spray of water and lunge back up onto the little island. He crashed through the underbrush and disappeared. In what seemed only a second of passing time, I heard him explode out the other side of the little island and crash into the swamp water and lily pads. Within only a minute he had splashed his way across the watery prairie and was gone.

Suddenly, I remembered my camera. With a sinking realization, lifted my arm to which it was strapped. I watched the water drain out of it as the quietness of the Okefenokee returned. The the red winged blackbirds picked up their previously interrupted discussion over in the stand of black gums… and  two yellow eyes and the gray colored snout and forehead of an alligator rose to the surface a few yards away. I felt the urge to clamber quickly back into my now snakeless canoe.

As the hot South Georgia sun beat down on me and the gator slowly sunk down into the lily pads, I looked at my camera and wondered if it might be time to just head home and look for a cup of coffee. And think up a good story to tell my wife to explain why I needed to buy another camera. A story that wouldn’t include me running from a little brown snake. I was sure that somehow that just wouldn’t sound very macho.    

Four Snake Tales Which Are Not True

Check this article out which I wrote on another website. I hope you will like it.
https://wizzley.com/four-snake-tales-which-are-not-true/

A Sailor Named Taylor

(Reading level: grade 5.8)

There once was a sailor named Taylor,
Who couldn't swim a lick.
He joined our ship to escape a jailor,
Who was hunting him with a very big stick.

It seems that on a sweetly-scented star-lit night,
That Taylor stole a few sweet kisses,
Off a pretty young gal named Sal.
Unbeknownest to the soon-to-be sailor,
The sweet young gal was promised...
To a skinny-legged tailor.

That skinny-legged tailor heard of the stolen kisses,
And rushed madly out into the night.
Soon the soon-to-be-sailor heard of the tailor and his desire to fight.

The gathering gossips soon caused Taylor's youthful pride to swell,
Till presently he began to tell,
Just how badly he'd maul the skinny-legged tailor.

Quiet possibly he would have succeeded,
Had Taylor met tailor in a fair-handed fight.
But it seems that the skinny-legged tailor,
Had a large muscled brother... the jailor.

So as tailor and jailor looked for the soon-to-be-sailor,
Taylor took flight in the night.

Down tot eh docks and out on the pier,
The soon-to-be-sailor fled in fear.
And what should his wide-eyed gaze behold?
Our fair ship a-casting off...
So into our hold he dove.

Amid much clatter, noise, and wonderment,
We watched his landing on our load of cement.

HIs face was badly cut and bruised,
But he begged heartily to stay aboard.
After a while the captain consented,
But...oddly,,, beat him daily with the flat of his sword,
For the manner, he said, in which he came aboard!

So that's the story of Taylor the sailor,
Who served with us on the wide open seas,
Under an oddly acting captain - a man of two brothers, I believe,
One a tailor, the other a jailor.

Alas, there once was a sailor named Taylor,
Who couldn't swim a lick.


Clint Bowman
1 May 1995

My Boat

(Reading level: grade 3.8)

I went and bought a little boat,
You'd think the thing would barely float.
A thing of rotted wood and rust,
I had to buy it or I'd bust.

I repaired the rotted wood and rust,
And found a boat a man could trust.
I scraped and painted here and there,
With dreams of sea winds blowin' fair.

A fine new sail the wind will bloat,
As I cross the sea in my new boat.

Clint Bowman
1 July 1995


This poem was published in "Treasured Poems of America", winter 1996.

Do you like to go to the rodeo?

Every fall in August my hometown hosts a small local rodeo. I look forward to it. With the second half of July coming on, my thoughts are turning towards the fall and the rodeo. It's a great family fun time! Even for non-farming families, it is fun. You should look around your hometown and enjoy a good time at the rodeo. They usually have a special feature time for the kids. All those kids who wish to participate in this, usually love it. A piece of ribbon is taped onto a calf or a sheep or goat. The animal is let loose in the arena and the children chase it until one of them can pull off the tape and win the prize. It's a fun time! SO, check out your local rodeo, you will be glad you did.

The Rodeo Bull
(Reading level: grade 4.6)

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?

Published in an eBook of short stories on Amazon titled “Panther Trouble” in 2013.

My newest eBook: "Okefenokee Tales" is now available on Amazon.com

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00X5XJ4MO

The SS Waycross Victory (840)

(Reading level: grade 3.1)

A massive effort, world at war,

Nations fought to save,

The conquered  peoples,

Of Hitler’s hate.

Ships were needed,

To carry the brave,

To haul supplies,

To liberate.

Many were built ,

Of simple design,

Lightly armed,

They carried hope.

One among them,

Late to the fray,

Brave SS Waycross,

Plied her way.

Peace restored,

Ships were stored,

But not this one,

This solid work.

She toiled long,

Crossing many seas,

Using many names,

She proved her worth.

Until finally age,

Caught up with her,

And one last voyage,

 She did make.

To a distant shore,

In Pakistan,

Where she gave her all,

One last time.

Clint Bowman

April 2015

(Author’s note: The SS Waycross Victory 840 was launched in July, 1945, She met her end at a scrap yard on the coast of Pakistan in 1975 at a place called Gadani Beach. Prior to that end, she sailed the world’s seas hauling various types of cargo after being sold in 1946 by the US government. )