George Buster Singleton |
(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 “Sighing winds signal approach of
Indian summer” was originally published in the Aug. 16, 1990 edition of The
Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
The cool mornings and the sighing winds give evidence that
Indian summer is soon approaching. Although the days continue to be hot, the
cool breezes during the evenings tell us that better days are ahead.
The desire to wander and seek the high places are foremost
on the mind as the corn in the fields takes on that brownish color. And the sighing
winds across Nancy Mountain tells one that a change is in the air.
The desire to search the wooded areas for the wild grapes
and muscadine vines is fast becoming an obsession. The dreaded “Dog Days” will
soon fade into oblivion, and the desire to ignore all chores around the house
and obey the call of the vagabond clouds the brain.
The rippling waters of the mighty river haunts the memory as
impatience grips the soul. The time of peace and the time for the gathering of
thoughts is soon at hand.
Such a pity that the leaders of the world can’t envision the
meaning of peace. There is so much for man to enjoy that was put here for his
pleasure, yet he continues to ignore. We stumble by the beauties of life, not
realizing that total happiness is at our fingertips. We destroy and mess up our
surroundings in the name of progress, and then wonder why our world has gone to
pot.
Life is so temporary, yet we gather our wealth and material
things as though we will be around for a thousand years.
As the golden sun began its westward journey toward the
distant horizon Thursday afternoon, I would venture to say that only a pitiful
few even took time to notice. The Master Painter, with all his patience and
skills, stroked the western skies with his colors, more beautiful than mortal
man can imagine, and yet, most of us ignored his handiwork.
We have let the dollar signs blot out that which should be
so meaningful in our lives. We trade peace of mind and contentment so that we
may stay in the race of our societies to gather the material things we deem
important. And, as we sit in front of our television sets and view the world
situation, we dare not understand from where our trouble comes.
We place great value on our material assets. But, as an old
man once told me, he “had been to three state fairs and two goat ropings and had
never seen a trailer hitch on a funeral hearse yet.” In other words, we can’t
take it with us.
As for myself, I wait for the cooler days and the many trips
around the countryside that beckon to me. I can’t wait for the challenge of
retrieving those delicious opossum grapes from that high tree or holding a hat
full of those juicy muscadines in front of me while sitting and listening to the
sighing winds across Nancy Mountain.
I’ll have an hour or two of restful sleep, with a rock for a
pillow, while the winds play a lullaby through the tall pines. Or, perhaps, a
nap by the mighty river, as the rippling waters slowly make their way to the great
ocean many miles away. There is no substitute for this kind of life, I know.
If, however, you should choose to go the way of the vagabond,
I must warn you that life will never be the same. The things that seem
important in your life today will fade into the far corners of the mind, and visions
of the high places and the calling hills may become an obsession. Sardines and
crackers and a cold root beer will become the staple diet, and the cool places
atop the beckoning ridges will haunt the mind forever more.
And, as you grow more professional in this art of being a
wanderlust or vagabond, you will learn how to catch a nap while leaning against
a tree or using a rock for a pillow, while the soft pine needles serve as a
comforter to rest on. You will become an expert in the art of making excuses so
that you can get away for just a few hours.
The sounds of the sighing winds and the rushing waters of the
great river will forever haunt your mind. You will find yourself talking about
this way of life each time someone asks you a question. You will notice, too, that
your friends might whisper behind your back and point to you when a group
gathers.
But never you mind, they will only be jealous. You will have
the peace of mind that they wish for. You will have the satisfaction of knowing
where peace can be found. And you will know the feeling of raising your arms to
the heavens while resting atop a high hill, and knowing that he is near your
side each time you call.
(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 on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County and
served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from 1964 to
1987. 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.)
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