Singleton observes roaring river, flowers, beaver and eagle during trip to Nancy Mountain in 1990

Large American Beaver.

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Beauty is found by observing: A roaring river, a delicate flower and a soaring eagle – all close together” was originally published in the March 29, 1990 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

There was a time in my life when I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the beauty of my surroundings. My best excuse is that I didn’t have the time to observe the beauty that our Creator put here for us to see. But over the years, things have taken on new meanings.

Probably, we could get away with placing the blame on growing old. Anyway, I will leave it there, because I just can’t think of a better reason at this moment.

Strange how Mother Nature goes from one extreme to another.

On Tues., March 20, I traveled to the great river to observe the high water. For some reason or another, high and rising waters have always fascinated me.

Danger and destruction

As I reached the river, I was reminded of the danger and destruction that lurked in the dark and rising waters. The deep whirlpools gave the impression of a giant monster, waiting for the opportunity to reach out and grab anyone or anything and then pull it into the deep, dark caverns beneath the surface, into a death with no end.

As I stood and watched the mighty currents, I wondered how a force could be so destructive while, perhaps a few feet from the swirling waters, a small violet had grown to be so delicate and fragile.

As I walked back into the woods, staying close to the rising waters, I thought of the many small animals the rushing waters had taken upon demand from Mother Nature.

As I stood there looking into the unknown depths, I realized that I was not alone. I slowly looked over my left shoulder, there I saw a large beaver testing the rising waters. The beaver would slowly place his foot in the dark water, then he would pull this foot out and place the other one in the rushing current. He would wait for a few moments, then repeat his actions.

I wondered for a minute, trying to grasp what thoughts might be going through the mind of the beaver. Was he worried about his family being out there in the water? Or was he worried about a hutch that he and his family had started, only to be made to leave suddenly by the waters?

As the beaver gradually moved down the edge of the waters, I began to make my way slowly back up to where I had left my transportation. As I stepped into the clearing, I looked once more out over the rushing currents. There floated the carcass of a cow. The deadly current was playing no favorites.

As I made my way back up the tall hill to the top of Nancy Mountain, I pulled over and got out of my vehicle. I never pass this spot without stopping, if only for a moment, and looking across the vast valley below and marveling at the scene.

I thought for a moment how peaceful it was here on the top of Nancy Mountain. I remembered, too, the deadly waters of the swollen river just a few hundred yards down the hill from where I stood. As I examined the budding mountain laurels, growing there on the edge of the high bluff, I marveled too at the determination to survive while perched dangerously on the side of the high cliff. I envisioned the beauty that in a few short days would cover the high bluff when the lovely mountain laurels burst into full bloom.

Death and destruction

I could see in the distance the mighty, rushing river. I could almost hear the angry, swirling waters as the currents fought to and fro, as though trying to see which one could be the most destructive and then reach the mighty ocean first. I thought of the death and destruction that lay in its wake.

Then I remembered how safe and secure I was, there on the mountain. I wondered if there was any way that I could grasp the strength of the solid hill that I now sat on, and feel the security of its foundations, deep in the earth below me.

Looking over the valley, I spotted something familiar. I hurried to my vehicle and grabbed my binoculars. I trained the powerful glasses on the high-flying bird that could hardly be seen with the naked eye. There was my friend, the huge golden eagle, that I had watched here many times, wing its way high over the valley, riding the air currents, as though performing for me alone.

As the beautiful and graceful eagle slowly seem to grow tired of its aerial performance, it moved gradually northward, even beyond the reaches of the powerful binoculars. But the sighting of the graceful bird had served its purpose. I felt refreshed. Within me was the strength that I had left down by the rushing river. The world seemed to reach out, all around me, telling me that there was nothing to fear, all was well.

Love note intercepted

As I made my way homeward, I thought of the eagle. Slowly, from the depths of my mind, I remembered how much eagles had impressed me throughout my lifetime. I remembered when, as an early teenager, I thought I was deeply in love with a young lady in my class. I wrote her the following love note. I remember, too, how embarrassed I was when my teacher intercepted this love note before it reached its destination and read it aloud to our whole class:

“If by some miracle we were transferred into the images of two great eagles, we would spread our graceful wings and ascend to the lofty peaks. There, we would listen to the sighing winds and watch the golden rays of the setting sun streak across the horizon. We would walk among the rolling clouds and rest in the eternal evening forever.”

Ah, memories, sweet memories. May they forever be with me.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He also helped organize the Monroe County Museum and Historical Society and was also a past president of that organization. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)