Introduction:

Hi,

Glad you decided to drop by my blog. I enjoy story telling and making up stories. Therefore, I decided to start this blog to share some of my stories with anyone who may be interested. If you enjoy what you read here, please tell others about it. I promise to never post a story here which you would be ashamed to read to your children (or be ashamed if someone caught you reading it).



Blessings,

C. Bowman

Friday, December 25, 2015

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!!



Sunday, December 20, 2015

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!
 



Thursday, December 10, 2015

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