The Red Eyed Locusts

 

We always called them the 17 year locusts, those orange cloaked red eyed Cicadas that emerge in the late Spring every seventeen years. I suppose it was because they came out in such numbers and swarmed like locusts.

The annual “Jar Fly” Cicadas as we called them, are much larger and are green with dark eyes. They usually come out in late Summer and announce themselves with a loud “Rear, Rear, Rear” call. Oh how I hated that sound when I was a kid on the farm. It marked the end of summer vacation and the beginning of the laborious harvest season for tobacco and hay, those daylight to dark miserable days of heat and sweat, eye burning tobacco gum and choking hay dust in the loft of a tin roofed barn.

The Jar Flies didn't emerge in large numbers, and you could hear individual ones calling. When disturbed, they emit a very loud raspy sound and shake violently, startling the disturber. That behavior is probably how they got their name. As I grew older and left the farm for work in the city, the sound of the Jar Fly brought back memories of my childhood days, except the dread of harvest turned into melancholy dreams of a simpler life and the happiness it brought.

The Jar Flies are active in the daytime, flying around in trees and singing, but are quiet at night. The Katydids come out at night and would sing me to sleep from a big Maple tree in our yard. The “Did-it, Did-it, Did-it” sound was soothing coming through the screened window beside my bed. We had no fans or air conditioning in our Civil War era log house built by settlers, so in Summer we would leave windows open and let the cool night air in. To this day, the sound of the Katydids is very soothing to me.

Now the Red Eyed Locusts are an altogether different thing. My first encounter with them was in 1953 when I was six years old. Dad had leased our farm to a coal company for stripping. A big drag line shovel was moved in and they started gouging out huge trenches and leaving mountainous spoil piles of rock, dirt and shale as they uncovered and dug out the coal. The digging machine ran 24 hours a day. Its huge engine ran at a slow RPM with a thunderous “Bomp, Bomp, Bomp” sound, and its speed varied with the load on the engine. You could hear the engine strain with every bucket load that was lifted out of the pit.

The Red Eyed Locusts came out early that Spring, announcing the ensuing destruction that followed that Summer. Unlike the Jar Flies, they have an eerie call, “uh-OHHH-oh, uh-OHHH-oh”, a mournful sound that drones on without intermission … as if marking the beginning of an Apocalyptic event. At least that is the way I heard it then, at six years old.

There was a historic drought that Summer. The Coal Temple, (a building housing a crusher and truck loading hopper), and the Scale House for weighing the loaded coal, were located about 1/4 mile from our house on the narrow one lane gravel road. The trucks hauled the coal out on the road going by our house, and as the summer passed, the dust from the heavy trucks got worse and worse. A huge billowing cloud of choking dust followed the trucks as they passed, as if they were rocket powered. Our house was only about 30 yards from the road, and the dust cloud came seeping through any cracks in the doors or windows that were shut to keep it out, covering everything in a thick film of dust. It was hard to keep the windows shut though because mom cooked on a coal fired cook stove (even in Summer). Fortunately though, the Kitchen was located in the back of the house, and mom was able to open those windows to help keep it cooler. I can still see my mom in her flour sack print apron that she had sewn on the treadle Singer machine, canning green beans with a steaming and spewing Pressure Cooker on that hot coal stove, sweat streaming down her face while squinting and puffing to keep it our of her eyes. She was young then, about 30, and worked as hard as any man in the fields to do her part for the family.

The second encounter with the Red Eyed Locusts was in 1970. Elaine and I had been married for 1 1/2 years. Dad had helped me buy a little piece of property close to where he lived, and my Brother-in-Law Don was helping to clear off a place to set our 10'x40' mobile home. It was a small home that we had purchased from my sister, but we were glad to get it and be able to move out of the city into the country where we were raised. The lot was previously the site of a one room country school that my grandfather and my mother had attended when they were young. The building was in use in the late 1800s and early 1900s, but it was torn down during the Depression. By the time we bought it in 1970, it was covered in thick bushes and tree saplings and required a bulldozer to clear.

Don loved car racing, and he took off work to go to the Indy 500 race on Memorial Day weekend. The Red Eyed Locusts were in full emergence, and again their eerie calls invoked thoughts of Armageddon. A lot of the saplings and branches of the larger trees had big gouged out places in the bark where the female locusts had deposited eggs with their Ovipositors. This stunted the smaller trees.

The next encounter with the locusts was in 1987. My dad had a severe heart condition that Spring and couldn't get out much because of it. But he was able to go over to my brother's Bar-b-Que for a meal. At the time my brother was building a house, and after we ate, we went over to see how it was coming along, and to help him raise some of the walls. Dad went with us, being the mentor and cultivator of construction for us, but wasn't able to do much physical work other than offering advice.

A few days later, I woke up very early to the sound of my phone ringing. It was mom. Dad had gotten up, had fallen to the floor flat faced with a thud, and was unconscious. I quickly put some clothes on and drove about 2 miles to their house. Dad was not breathing and had no pulse when I arrived. Mom was standing in the doorway to the Den, fully dressed with her coat on and purse in hand. She was in a state of shock and had always had trouble dealing with death, or even getting seriously sick. She goes into a state of denial and can't properly grieve whenever she encounters death of a loved one.

I administered CPR and continued until the Paramedics arrived, but dad never responded.

The Red Eyed Locusts were beginning to emerge when we gathered at Mom's house after the funeral. Again, the eerie sound of their call invoked a feeling of a looming Apocalyptic event. Shivers ran up my spine when I heard them while standing in dad's little garden of potatoes that he had planted just days before.

The next encounter with the Red Eyed Locusts was in 2004. After dad died, my mother sold the farm in plots. My brother and I bought two of them in the 90's. I was farming my portion and had just built a new house on it in 2000. We planted an orchard with apple, peach, cherry and pear trees when we moved in the house, and they were beginning to bear fruit. The locusts damaged the little trees, but didn't kill them, although they didn't bear fruit that year.

The last encounter I had with the Red Eyed Locusts locally was in 2021. The COVID Pandemic was killing a lot of people and wreaking havoc that year. The political extremists were still on a quest to overthrow our Democracy after loosing the election in 2020. Many family members were split and fighting each other at the dinner table. The sound of the locusts call, that “uh-OHHH-oh” droning on and on, and the apparent rise of a false prophet as predicted in the book of Revelations, truly felt like an impending doom was upon us. And the trouble is, it did not end there with the attempted coup d'tat. Followers and co-conspirators started throwing monkey wrenches into the Justice system to gum up the works to delay and prevent prosecution of those responsible. It seemed that evil forces were going to overpower us.

The 17 year locust cycles are not synchronous throughout the United States, and may occur in different years regionally. In addition, some groups come out in 13 year cycles. In my area, we have not seen a 13 year cycle group, but in some areas both groups can be present. In those areas, both groups can emerge in the same year once every 137 years. 2024 is one of those rare years, and in the areas affected, the locust population will be huge.

We have seen a rise in Autocrats throughout the world in the last decade. They have gained power and control over their countries, and seek to go worldwide. They have infiltrated even into our country and influence our elections through subtle propaganda in our news, social media, and information networks. Some in our own government and religious organizations have fallen prey to their lies and hate mongering.

This year, a rare year of the Red Eyed Locusts, is also a year in which Americans will make a choice to follow a vengeful Autocrat into an oblivion of oppression and poverty, or to continue the free and prosperous Democracy that our forefathers and mothers have fought and given their lives for.

This year the Red Eyed Locusts may truly be sounding the alarm of Armageddon for our country and the world that looks up to us as a leader for righteousness and justice.

Dan Bowlds

Dark Moon

 

Tonight is the Long Night of the New Moon, the rare cold New Moon of Winter Solstice. The dying flames in the fireplace flicker and cast soft glowing images on the ceiling. The clock on the mantel begrudgingly lumbers out the seconds; clink ... clank, clink … clank. A Hoot Owl's “Who are You?” echoes out in the dark night, and none answer. A cold wind rustles the dead leaves in the shrubs outside, and whistles through the window.

Alone again, as I often am, with no one to share my thoughts and dreams, at least no one who understands.

As my time draws near, I reflect back on my life, the dreams I had in my youth, my naivety, the blissful ignorance, the midlife disappointments and betrayals, the struggles to provide for my family. And, I think of all the successes and good fortunes I have had in my life, even though some of them at the time seemed like failures. I think of all the blessings, being born in a free country with opportunities for education and sustainable employment, where justice and the rule of law keeps the peace, where enough citizens are willing to fight and defend what we have. I am grateful!

I see so many in the world now that don't even have enough food or shelter, those who are deprived by ruthless and godless dictators. Dictators who see themselves as little gods to lord over the subjects while they bask in luxury and excess. Some of these do this in the name of God through religious indoctrination and education deprivation. These truly are the most evil!

Now in the Winter of my life, I have a short time to rekindle my childhood curiosity and fascination for life and all that is around us. Our good Mother Earth is our only safe sanctuary accessible in this dark and cold Universe, She provides for all life.

We do not “have dominion” over the Earth! We can not recklessly exploit resources and destroy our environment without serious consequence. We have exponentially developed technologies that allow each of us to communicate globally without the aid of a Broadcaster or a Publisher, and to wield personal computers that exceed the power of super computers from just a few decades ago. We have developed machines to do the work of planting and harvesting, have mobilized the population with automobiles, planes, and trains that were not even dreamed of two hundred years ago. We have also developed enough weapons to wipe off all humans on this planet, and make the Earth uninhabitable for thousands of years.

Even though our intelligence, reason ,and knowledge has allowed us to do all of these things physically, our social behavior is still in the Stone Age. There is so much greed, hate, lust for power and money, selfishness, arrogance, and pride, and there is so little love and tolerance these days. We have it in our power to bring the world as we know it to an end, or to make it a living Paradise!

All that Good has to do is Nothing for Evil to succeed!

God an Idea

God, an Idea

I will start with this, knowledge of Universe workings has no bearing on its existence. Realization of this has probably given us this idea of God as a Creator. As our consciousness took shape out of the primordial fog, we began to see two realities. We could see the tangible physical, those things that we could touch and feel, taste and smell, see with our eyes, and hear with our ears. But we also sensed the intangible spiritual in our minds. We sensed those things that controlled the behavior of the physical, but could not be detected except through the actions upon the physical. We saw that living things had a will and could control their actions to some degree. We saw other things that were physical and behaved in certain unchangeable ways, like a rock that falls when it is dropped. But we saw other things like volcanoes, the weather, lightening and rain, that didn't behave consistently, but yet there was no evidence that it was alive. This lead us to think that there was some unseen spiritual being whose will was being imposed upon the conditions causing them to change.

In the beginning we confused the two realities and lumped them together in our thinking. Mythological stories might have said “the evil Spirit came upon the world and the sun was smitten.” In reality, a volcano might have erupted 500 miles away and produced an ash cloud that blocked a portion of the sun light in their area. Our reasoning associated human traits with a spiritual God in order to explain the physical actions that we were seeing. This is because all variable and inconsistent actions we had observed were caused by living things with a will. When bad things happened to us physically, we thought that God did that to us directly as a punishment for something we had done, or that God was allowing some lesser evil spirit to control the physical circumstances we were in because we had been bad. We thought that God must be behaving like an Almighty Tyrant, and we gave God traits of anger and vengeance.

As civilization developed, religion and politics became prevalent. Certain individuals arose and became very powerful by inserting themselves between God and the common people, such that all had to go through them to experience God. In some cases, the religious and political leaders became the physical representation of God here on Earth. They made all kinds of laws that people had to follow, and condemned those who weren't faithful, to death. No one dared to think differently than they had been indoctrinated to believe. This seems to be the story across the globe where any type of civilization began, from the Eastern Asian countries, all the way around to the Americas. Lust for power and control of others always seemed to prevail in a civilized society.

As our thinking became more distinct, and we became more observant, probably because we had more leisure time in a society, we began to see that some things in our physical reality behave in certain unchanging ways regardless of what we think or do. The quest for truth and the study of the natural behavior of things came to be known as science. Even though we didn't know the cause of existence, we were able to establish the natural behavior based on laws we had formulated from observance. Of course, during this time there were those who stubbornly clung to the ideas of Wizards and Witches, Alchemy and such, as in the Harry Potter stories. Even some of the religious hierarchies clung to these ideas for fear of loosing control, and condemned any science that would challenge the religious philosophy of the creation as they had interpreted it. Galileo is a good example of this.

At this stage in our evolutionary development, scientists have been able to observe the behavior of all that we sense as physical around us, and have been able to characterize and predict these actions with mathematical models and natural laws that seem to control them. But they still do not know how or why the behavior exists! They don't know what causes gravity or inertia, or what causes time to pass. They don't know what energy is, or why there is a speed of light limit on moving bodies, and how the velocity of bodies in space affects the apparent time in that space. We have made great strides in the last 150 years to describe the physical behavior of the Universe, but the cause of these actions are still unknown. In spite of that, some Scientists have become arrogant, and have made proclamations that God does not have to exist. But what about our own existence? What are we really? Are we just an arrangement of elements? Has our consciousness and awareness of existence come from the natural unchanging laws of Physics? I think the answer is no! There is evidence everywhere of the spiritual. Any living existence has a spirit and can somewhat sense and react to its changing environment. It is called Evolution. The tiniest little fuzzy seed of a Sycamore tree is alive, and knows when the conditions are right for it to sprout. It knows which way is up and down. Its intangible genetic software, which is a sacred thing of the Creator that is not to be tampered with, takes the Elements of the Earth and energy from the Sun to make a beautiful towering tree, and it produces improved versions of itself to continue the life in a changing environment.

The spiritual part of us resides in the ever-present. We are not alive in the memories of yesterday, or in the anticipation of tomorrow. We are alive now, and a part of us has been alive since the very beginning of life on this Earth. The living spark of life was passed to me from my father and mother. Their parents passed the life to them, and their parents before them, all the way back to the very beginning. And if you believe in Evolution, all life is connected from the very beginning. Truly, life on this Earth is like a big family. If you look inside the DNA in each of our millions of cells, you will find vestiges of primitive life DNA in them. And think of this, our consciousness and self awareness is what we think of as our being, but there are millions of little cells in our bodies that are alive, and each of these cells has a spirit that causes it to be alive, and to be doing specific functions, even sacrificing itself to keep us alive.

We may never know the answers to these questions: What are we? How did we get here? And what is to become of us? But we must remain ever humble and grateful that we have been allowed to exist here at the pinnacle of consciousness on this Earth at this stage of our development. We must never think that we are in control to do as we please in this living Paradise that we have been given.

Dan Bowlds

Gipe's Country Store

Occasionally Mom sent me to the store for baking powder or some other commodity. We called it “the store” because it was the only one around, about a mile up the lane from our house.

The single dirt lane tunneled through the hardwoods that was cut by horse drawn wagons one hundred years before. I can still remember the knobby knees of the gnarly oak tree clinging to the road bank as if it were trying to climb back up, and the faded Royal Crown Cola sign nailed to it. And there was a Beech tree with lovers names carved in it on the other side, some initials whose names that I knew. Along the way there was the scent of sweet Honeysuckle and wild roses that had wound around the barbed wire fences lining the road in the grassy clearings. I walked along, the cool dust squirting between my toes, anticipating the “cold drink” I was going to get with the change I would get back from the purchase I was sent after.

Just past Mr. Gipe's house it came into view, a feathery gray, whitewash freckled box, with a pyramid shaped roof. The weatherboarding was broken in places, revealing the split rail walls, but it stood solidly as it had since its construction in the 1800s. Its ax nicked Chestnut sills were meticulously squared, notched, and placed upon sand stone pillars with hand labor and pride. It was originally built as a one room school house to serve our little community of Gatewood, and was the place where my parents and grandparents learned how to read and write and learned basic Arithmetic.

In the Forties and early Fifties, the school was closed down and the county started running a bus line out to our community to bring the children to the public schools, and the school was converted to a general store. A plank porch had been added, mainly for loafers. In the summer time, old timers would spend time upon the porch drinking soda pop and talking about their crops and livestock. The area between the road and porch steps was covered with pop tops and I hobbled over them with my bare feet to get inside.

The pine oiled floors had cracks wide enough for a worn dime to fall through, rolled flypaper black with victims hung from the tall ceiling, and a pudgy little man with a feather duster and apron stood by – Mr. Gipe. I marveled the Clark thread and needle display, its spool high drawers filled with thread of every shade. The shelves went to the ceiling with canned goods, oatmeal boxes, wash powders, and a little ladder to reach the top shelves. Most of my attention went to the curved glass case with the candy bars in it – the quarter pound Babe Ruths, the crunchy Zagnut bars, the spearmint gum, and peppermint sticks. Mr. Gipe added up the items on a paper sack with a scratchy pencil just about as fast as he could write them down. And then, I looked at the change I had left to see if I had enough for a “cold drink”, or even a nickel candy bar if I had enough. The drinks were a nickel if you left the bottle at the store, but there was a two cent deposit if you took the bottle.

Over by a tall narrow window sat the drink box. It was an “ice box” that had chilled water in it with ice floating around to keep the drinks cold. There was no other refrigeration. I raised the lid and hung over the edge on my stomach, feet dangling, and fished around in the ice water until my hand ached for first a grape soda, then for a strawberry, then a lemon soda, and finally settled on the grape. I perched upon the window ledge, one leg up with my chin on my knee, the other leg swinging, and sipped my drink while gazing out the window. There was usually a cool breeze coming in from under the Sugar Maple tree just outside the window. That was just about as good as it got for me! Trying to be polite by concealing a soda pop burp through the nose that immediately set it on fire was not a smart thing to do though, I discovered. 

Dirt Road Reflections

I walk often on the little winding country road that I live on. I call it the “The Little Dirt Road” because it was a dirt and gravel road before it was paved about fifteen years ago. I walked and rode my bicycle on it when I was a boy, threw rocks in the creek from the one lane iron bridge, and shuffled through the Fall leaves as country kids often do. I wrote the song “Little Dirt Road” after seeing an old broken down Beech tree with lover's names carved on it. I have taken pictures, recorded animal sounds, and even shot part of my “Wandering Soulmate” and “Lover's Lullaby” videos on that road. A lot of my creative inspiration comes from there and the woodlands that I stroll through on my forty acres. I get into nostalgic/melancholic moods occasionally (or sometimes a lot), when I go walking, as do most of us with a sensitive poetic heart.

  In the Fields

  

   

It seems that poets, songwriters, and creative artists of all types, are joined at the heart. They recognize and find each other easily. It is so wonderful to have others to share with, Kindred Spirits who speak heart to heart through their works of art. Sometimes there is a deep connection at first meeting, and you feel like you have found a lost friend from long ago.

 Wandering Soulmate

  

Any of you who follow my blogs, or listen to my songs, or watch my videos will probably notice immediately that my mood in a lot of the things I have written is from a retrospective viewpoint. As the sun is setting on my harvest fields, I cast long shadows upon them, while the morning sun on some of my younger Kindred Spirit friends casts a long shadow on their newly sprouted fields. But there is a part of me that is still young (my spirit). I have retained much of my boyhood curiosity and imagination throughout my life, and even into my senior years. I know in my mind (and sometimes when my body speaks to me) that I might not have too many more years left. So you will see a tussle between the two in my songs and writings, and even in my pictures of old barns, houses, and the like.

My young spirit wants to associate with the youthful, those that still have hopes and dreams and love with intensity. I can feel the hopes and dreams, the disappointments and suffering that is expressed through their art. My long shadow crosses youthful shadows on the fields of life. I take comfort in encouraging them to follow what they know is true in their heart, and I find purpose in that, even though I know that I can no longer participate.

We are different in our talents and means of expression, but we are all trying to say the same things; express our struggles with life and death, our compassion for one another, lover's dreams, heartbreaks, and broken promises … It does us a lot of good just to be able to express what we feel to others, and to have them understand. We never outgrow our need for love and understanding! I choose this life of hopes and dreams for as long as I can, and will probably never follow others who are “acting my age”.       

Hole in my Bucket

Hole in my Bucket

White hot sun a blazin' in the cloudless sky

Parched lips are cracked and dust in my eye.  

I'm lost and forgotten I might not survive! 

I need a drink of water just to stay alive. 

Just a sip of water for my throat so dry.

 'Cause there's a hole in my bucket, a hole in my bucket

A hole and the water's gone dry

 Cracks in my heart, shattered on the ground

Too long the time since you were around.

Empty motions of dutiful toil

House to clean, beans to boil

No kiss, no hi, no hug to live by.

Just the sound of your weary sigh.

Oh there are cracks in my heart, cracks in my heart
Cracks and the love's gone dry  

Dark clouds are looming in my once blue sky 
Billowing high and drawing near
Oh rain fall down and wash my tear
I'll mend my bucket, fill it to the brim
 Let me drink freely again.

'Cause there's a hole in my bucket, a hole in my bucket
A hole and the water's gone dry

A bright ray streaks, breaking the clouds!

Hope and love comes shining through!

Such beauty and grace that shines through you!

Heal my heart, fill it to the brim

So that I might find love again.  

 'Cause there are cracks in my heart, cracks in my heart

Cracks and the love's gone dry  

Natchez Ghost

Here in the forest along a rocky stream on the Natchez Trace Trail, I stand pondering who might have passed here. How many might have stopped and rested as I am now? Herds of Buffalo might have drank from the crystal waters here on their journey to greener pastures long before humans arrived on this continent. And the Chickasaw people who resided in this land for thousands of years might have camped along this stream on a hunting expedition.

Blotches of lichen and moss cover the sandstone layers of rock jutting out of the banks at oblique angles, rocks that were formed layer upon layer on sandy shores for millions of years, 400 million years ago. And as the land masses came together in the super continent of Pangaea, the sand layers that were compacted into stone buckled and broke to form these jagged upheavals of rock that now line the banks of this stream.

I stand alone here, alone as I have been most of my life, seeking a fleeting peace that seems ever out of reach. It's not that no others are around and interact with me, it's only that I can't seem to share my inner most thoughts and feelings with anyone. I was naive in my youth, thought all saw as I saw. Maybe for a brief period of time, I shared the same vision with a few, but the connection faded with time, like cataracts cloud the eyes.

Now, here in this moment, I feel the presence of a soul who passed this way once before me. One who left their spirit sandwiched in these layers of stone, an old soul full of love and wisdom that sees the beauty in all that surrounds us, one who shines bright rays of hope through this dense forest canopy, rays that now glisten in this gentle stream. Oh how I long to share this fleeting moment with that beautiful soul now, and in the flesh. But alas, it is not my fate, and I will just have to take what comfort I can in this ghostly visit.