Florida Folklore Part 7

Long before the advent of the white man in America,West Indian natives made expeditions to Florida in the belief that one of its many springs held miraculous properties, and so the myth of the Fountain of Youth was current here when early European maps, drawn before Columbus sailed from Spain, located a similiar spring in the Far East.
Eternal youth was not to be found in the crystal depths of Florida's springs, but their mysterious caverns provided a source of much lore among the now-extinct Indian tribes. From them came water gods and many legends. One legend was that on moonlight nights hundreds of little people only four inches in height came and danced around the deeply submerged inflow of Wakulla springs until a huge Indian warrior in a stone canoe appeared to drive them away--an illusion perhaps created by waving water plants and the moving shadow from a projecting rock in the springs. Scores of these legends, collected in book form, give a romantic overtone to the wonders viewed by tourists through glass-bottomed boats.

Dream of Sanctuary

by john clare stokes

Last evening I had this dream of sanctuary
The humble white building was far in the country
beside a river that flowed into the gulf sea
Immaculate in appearance with the glow
from lanterns upon the walls casting
a shimmering light upon the board floor.
Entering there was this transformation
for the ceiling was vaulted heavenward
with soaring buttresses ornate with
likenesses of cherubim and pomegranates
the windows which from the outside
were of imperfect depression glass
were stained in every color of the bow
and more
with depictions of heaven and earth
praising toward a throne of light
we sat and from the organ the music of Bach
was heard with every musical instrument
accompanying
No one said, this is not gospel music
for in sanctuary
the earthly gave forth an aroma pleasing to the One
God all were in worship
Around the humble room were the
icons of the saints, set in the finest frames of gold leaf
not a person called it an idol
for in the sanctuary
the earthly was given a heavenly transformation
we used to singing our two and snoozing
never slumbered in song, hymn and spiritual song
we even heard an unknown tongue in Wano
with a Wild man giving interpretation.
There was all manner of banners and pageantry with even
those dancing in the spirit as Shakers
Not a person complained or called for ouster
for all was done decently and to the praise of
the One God we worshipped
When time came to hear the pure Gospel word
is wasn't of health, wealth and making light
of other men that we heard
But we as men in deepest need
were drawn away from the flesh and things
 carnal
drawn to a love beyond earthly description
toward a love that would not let us go
 of a Gospel in its
purest annunciation
as if we were shepherds in this quiet country setting
beholding angels giving glory.
And yes, down to an altar we went
and yes
we bowed upon knee and we prayed
and no one scoffed and said
why that is decisional and from Finney
but in the Sanctuary
it was proper and called for.
For in the sanctuary
all the things that man would pervert
and call unholy, unclean and unworthy
were transformed and welcome
A wedding feast to the Lamb
The bride, the church surrounding
in the Sanctuary.
And I awoke...
and the pastor was saying we are broke
and next week the yard sale
we pray will pay the bills.....
 

The blood of the moon

This is for Glenn Harris who I told last evening I would give him the list of some of the sources that helped me wade through the mire of Dispensationalism. What is that you say? Briefly, it is the dominate eschatology(end times) doctrine taught in most churches today, especially prevalent in Independent and Southern Baptist Denominations. Who out there did not grow up on the old Scofield Reference Bible with Cyrus Scofields notes set along side the scriptures?
Who hasn't read Hal Lindsey's The late great planet earth and the popular Left Behind series?
You cannot in our day escape the Dispensational doctrine. It even determines our middle east policy with a dare you not support the nation Israel bias.
The system as taught in its pure form is most dangerous, taking most of the book of Revelation from chapter two on and throwing it far into the future, for the Jews only.
It returns to a Jewish form of worship, of sacrifices and things done away with by Christ.
It chops the entire Bible timeline into seven distinct dispensations on how God dealt with his people.
It downplays the gospel and the blood of the cross by saying in the future millennial reign, the Jews will again have the opportunity to be saved.
With the Internet today, we are able to google and find many books and resources to help guide us.
In the time I was questioning the doctrine at an Independent Baptist Church(of which I was kicked out for spreading...poison), I did not have the Internet. I am indebted to Brother Richard Harding of Faith Baptist in Williston who started me on the journey out. At the time, there was an excellent monthly journal in the early 90's called the Researcher from JR Boyd (1909-1994)in Ontario, Canada. It was full of short, substantive articles on prophecy that Brother Harding recommended.
I then ordered the excellent booklets on the  rapture and Israel by Gordon L Ginn, Pop Prophecy, Not to Israel Only and other booklets. Abrahams Children by Cecil Lowry was helpful.
Then I came across an old book in my fathers library, The Hope of Israel by Philip Mauro. It was so helpful, I ordered all this Supreme Court Justices books including Dispensationalism justifies the crucifixion, The Gospel of the Kingdom and his book on Revelation, Things which must soon come to pass. Also in his library was AW Pinks, Interpretation of Scripture.
To get a true look into who Scofield was, The incredible Scofield and his book by Joseph Canfield was an eye-opener.
Dispensationalism,Today,Yesterday and Tomorrow by Crenshaw and Gunn helped.
Two other booklets, Expo of Revelationby Russell Jones and Thine is the Kingdom by HC Heffren were excellent.
Like I said,with the help of the Internet, much,much more is available with just a search.
It is worth looking into the history of this system from the two Jesuits, Alcala and Ruberia and the rapture theory and history from Aimee Semple McPherson.
There is no reason for us today to not be as the Bereans of Scripture and search these things, to see if they are not so.
We live in an age of many,many hoax's foisted upon a gullible church, mostly seeking self-actualization, wealth, health and a cheap gospel.
Be warned, wolves are rampant.

looking the devil in the eye

Rick Bringger at Devils Eye Spring on the upper
Ichetucknee on Thursday

We had a good time kayaking down to the bridge on 27. A bit more than I was really capable of chewing, but made it OK. Cramped up at the end but that was on the dock.
I must try and make a monthly trip to the Ichetucknee and capture it in the ever changing landscape.
 

Long Toms

by john clare stokes

If the ole tom cat stray we had fixed
can escape first chance he gets
to find his long way across town
back to the old house in which
he was hanging around
Certainly a son to his right mind
can come
to find his way home.
If God can plant the long for home
in the alley cat
Certainly a son has one and will
find his way back.
The hummingbirds are gone
through the cold winter
To return in Spring to the
same feeder
Truly as the hummer journeys
across the ocean
A sons homeward migration
can be set in motion.
Last August from the porch we
wished upon meteors
Last evening from the porch we
prayed under a Perseid's shower
To set that course in motion
the return of a son, a grandson
and daughter
out from under the spell
of a dark, dark potion
To see them before our
eyes and the little ones
memory grows dim
To tell them again how very
deeply is our love
for them.

Done with Underwater

Until I can purchase either a decent underwater housing for one of the cameras or a dedicated underwater camera, I am done with taking the underwater zip loc type bag along. The plastic is terrible for the lens to attempt and focus through. You cannot compose your image, only guessing.
Using the flash is worse, causing flare.
The only thing I like is the distortions you get, the pleasant mistakes that are hit and miss in getting.
Oh well, on second thought I may continue to bring it along and deliberately attempt to
get surreal shots.

Workout upon Ichetucknee

There was a time in my younger days my only aim in life was running the fastest, canoeing the longest, competing in everything. As I grew older, that same competitive spirit remained, though now I was more a burden to those few friends willing to let me hang with their pace.
The last time I went mountain biking with such friends, I attempted doggedly to stay with them on the trail. But in that effort I wound up falling from the bike, the handlebar knocking the breath from me, feeling as if a rib was broken. To make matters worse, with several miles yet remaining to the vehicle, the heat exhaustion set in, with the dizziness. I had to practically walk the entire way back on an unfamiliar trail. I have yet to bike with them since.
Yesterday Rick and I met at Ichetucknee Springs for an inaugural trip in his newly purchased Wilderness Systems sit on top kayak, the Tarpon 10. The downstream paddle was easy with the strong current, and Rick wanted to go further than I had gone on the river before, down to the bridge on 27 where the river shoots through the old railroad overpass.
That was fine. It was the returning that got to me. In our leisure pace, half way back at Dampier landing, it was 5PM. We had to pick up the pace in the strong current. Near the end I felt a pull in my stomach muscles. I was using them, plus my legs and arms in a push and paddle motion.
Getting to the dock, getting out of the kayak, all my stomach muscles cramped up. I had to sit there, just like I did after that mountain bike wreck, trying to recover.
It will probably be our last kayak trip together. I have become a liability to my friends still in enough shape to enjoy the thrill of strength and speed.
In looking through the many photographs taken, few were very good to me. In my hurry, I would snap quickly and move on, not mulling the settings, the compositions.
I will return later in September when the floaters are gone and paddle slowly by myself.
 If the friends choose to come, I will tell them, please do not wait up for me, catch me on the return. 

There's a killer on the road

While the Doors "Riders on the Storm" just happens to be playing, a strange thing happened. Early this morning I dreamed of walking down a road, when a black man approaches and asks for money.
I do not give him any, when another black man walks up with fire extinguisher in hand. The first man turns and starts toward me to rob me. The second man is backing him up. I pull out this small cap pistol and aim it at them, they continue to approach, I continue to back and warn. I know the gun does not shoot actual bullets and only hope it deters them. I wake before the culmination of the dream.I get up and go for a walk. Immediately passing me when I get to the highway is the same man in appearance I had just dreamed of, the first one asking for money.
As this man continued to walk down 245A, I kept my eye upon him to turn around.
He continued on, I continued on, taking a right turn up Rossi Road for the two mile walk.

Launch Line

by john clare stokes

as children we took our chalk
and happily drew new worlds
upon the sidewalks
spun and whirled
to blur the rainbows
bright
with every passing
jump rope taking
a piece of the bow
and sending it skyward
beyond the blue
where the real
rainbows reside
and all too soon
we outgrew our
chalk bow world
and settled down
into a drudgery
of trying to find
again the rainbow
dust sent toward a
heavy sky
Our every skip
upon pavement painful
the weight felt
from long neglect
of the rainbow world
long since bowed
under foot
awaiting us to
 take again
the old chalk sticks
and scrawl upon
our faded starting point
a bright
launching line.
 

Alford and Louise

What do the boys of summer do these days? What became of the summers of looking forward to earning some money in the heat of the Florida sun? Have the migrants taken this fall football training ground from the boys of summer? I think so.
There was in my day, a wonderful group of watermelon growers, who did not rely upon the labor of Mexican or Haitian men with the dark,dark pigments and the unknown tongues, but the
good old redneck boys of the Mortgage hill hood.
I cannot give all the watermelon growers due credit, there were many, but two do come to mind.
There were only so many boys needed and it always seemed to be a waiting list to get on the crew of, not a man, but a woman, Mrs Louise Guess, 1891-1992.
Mrs Lucille was unique in the watermelon world in that not only would she work along with you,driving the truck in the field, but she would also provide a full course Southern meal, prepared by her we assumed. We would retire to her home, or under some shade oaks, and eat the pork chops, ham, butter beans, tomatoes with ice tea and lemon, laying back groaning, not only from the soreness and sunburn of the field, but the over indulgence. It was a time of hard work and laughter. Seems everyone chewed tobacco or dipped snuff, even Mrs Guess if t memory serves me. I recall one particularly funny incident where Mike "Wolfie" Parrish was working with Eddie Inman and I. Wolfie was younger and tried valiantly to impress us, howling like a Wolf upon command. While he was strong and muscular, he just had to have some of Eddie's Red Man Tobacco. He wasn't instructed that you chew and spit, not chew and swallow, which he did. The Howling of the Wolf Man turned to squeals of agony as he turned green as the melons he tried to pitch. I am sure it was the day we saved Wolfie from a life of tobacco. The position of honor in the watermelon field was that of the packer, the one who got to stay with the semi-truck and neatly stack the melons as we tossed them to him in a bucket brigade fashion from the field trucks. Turn,catch,throw, turn,catch,throw, over and over.
Once I was the packer but preferred being in the field with the crew, hearing all the banter and joking going on, like giving chewing tobacco to wolves...
Then there was a descending rank of growers, the last ones to usually fill their crews. One particular was John Alford Acree, 1912-1977. Alford had his fields out in the sand hills, offering little shade and no meals whatsoever. Alfred was a consummate old Florida red-neck, hard-working gentleman with a colorful story to tell, who could cuss you, the watermelons, the old pickup, the tractor, the wagon, the market up and down until the only relief you found was when he went storming off  to another hapless field to cuss out.
But despite the gruff appearances, Alfred and his jovial son  John Turner "Pee Wee", 1935-2010, were great to work for, not pulling any bull out of the old beat up hat. Alford was always the one we loved to hear  tell of his stories around the camp fire down in  the Fugate Gulf Hammock hunting camp C in the fall.
There were others we worked for in between, the Bullocks, Bells, Mixson's, Fugates to name a few, but these two stand out in my high school years during the 70's.
Come fall, we would return to the gridiron somewhat in better shape, certainly well-tanned
and ready to face the full-frontal assault of Coach Sammy Miller, another story in itself.

A literate militant

An angry, literate militant
is a dangerous thing
for with pen unsheathed
he writes madly away
at the very ramparts upon which
he stands
taking prisoners of his
own side
locking them in alliteration
while ignoring their
plea for literal word
His sarcastic, double-mean torture
pulling out tongue
with cheek
Never considering the pain
his methaphor inflicts
the only goal to rhyme it with
sick
prick
slick
dick
lets go with perfect.

Down the ramp

Today if all goes as planned, I will meet my long time best friend Rick Bringger here. Recently Rick purchased a nice Wilderness Designs sit on top kayak in green with vest and paddles from Austin Kayak. This I believe will be the first time in the water,a good place to christen the kayak, in the Ichetucknee. And hopefully I will capture the moment.