George Singleton: Human beings could learn a lot for watching geese

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 “When geese cross the moon,” was originally published in the Nov. 6, 1997 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

As the cool days of November slowly begin to appear on the distant horizon, the time will soon be at hand for the flights of wild geese to begin their journeys south. I know of nothing any more beautiful than to be atop a high hill on a night of a full moon and watch a flight of beautiful wild geese pass across the face of the glowing moon. Many of our society of today know nothing about these beautiful fowls of the air and their habits and behavior, as they make their way across the night skies on their way south.

Very few of us ever slip out on a night during the closing days of autumn, when the moon is at is fullest, and seek out a high hill to witness this beautiful sight that is there in the heavens for all to witness. And, should on observe the behavior of these graceful creatures, one could learn many lessons that could make our lives much better and easier to live on this place we call Earth. In observing the flights of wild geese, we could see the importance of pulling together and helping one another in our struggle through life. Life would be much easier for the elderly and those who need assistance in their every day living.

There was a time in our history when the country folks gave the late autumn flights of the wild geese a lot of attention. They looked for certain signs as these flocks crossed the moonlit skies of the late evenings and as darkness crept across the heavens. The early settlers learned the importance of working together by watching the formations of geese make their way to the south for their stay during the cold winter months.

By flying in a V formation the whole flock adds about a 71 percent longer flight range than if each bird flew alone. As each bird flaps its wing, it creates an uplift for the bird that is following. The lesson that we humans can learn from this is that people who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going quicker and easier when they travel on the thrust of one another.

When the lead goose grows tired, it rotates back into formation, and another goose takes over. Man should learn that it pays to take turns doing the hard tasks and sharing leadership because we, like geese, are dependent to a great degree upon each other.

Should a goose fall out of the formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to fly alone. It quickly gets back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird immediately in front. If we humans had as much sense as a goose, we would stay in formation with those who are headed in the direction where we, too, want to go.

The geese in the formation honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep up their speed. When we humans honk from behind, we need to make sure that our honking is encouraging. Many of us tend to honk at the wrong place and at the wrong time.

In these long flights on their way south, the geese will look after each other. When a goose gets sick or wounded, or perhaps shot by some ignorant hunter, two geese will drop out of formation and follow him down to help protect and stay with him until he is able to fly again. If he should die from his wounds, the two that stay launch out either with another formation or catch up with the original flock that they were with when they started. A lesson that we could learn from this is that if we humans had as much sense as the wild geese we could stand by each other as they do. We would protect and guard those that are in need until such time when they could also continue their journey through life or into another time.

Our society with all its knowledge has much to learn from the animals and birds of the air that are around us. In our world of make believe and fairyland we tend to let pass by much that would be beneficial to us and those around this plant we call Earth. We have grown to believe that we are too smart to heed the age-old lessons that has been put here for us to see and learn from.

Man will never survive on this planet unless he joins in with the environment and lives in harmony with that which is here. He must learn to save and protect, regardless how small or primitive each form of life might be. I believe that we, as humans, are at the crossroads. The time is at hand when we must choose the way that we are to go if we are to survive.

So, as the full moon of late autumn appears high in the heavens and the chilly winds of the late fall season appear on the horizon, make a vow to seek out a high hill and watch a flock of wild geese pass across the face of the glowing moon. If you have never witnessed this breathtaking spectacle, it will be something that will dwell within your mind for all time to come.

Much has been placed on this earth for man to witness and learn from. During this time within our country with all the fanfare and all the false promises and horn blowing, we need to look to the heavens for peace of mind and contentment of the soul. Enjoy all that you can; the beauty is here for us all to see and be a part of.

Before one knows it, the time will come when the beautiful events of nature that we missed will cause a time of sorrow to linger within the mind and soul for all times to come.

(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, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, 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.)

George Singleton tells of October 1995 trip to spooky old Indian village

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 “Spirits of the past call from deserted Indian village,” was originally published in the Oct. 26, 1995 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

The month of October has always been to me the month of mystery. For some strange reason during this month, I find myself wanting to return to old places that I have visited in the past, places where strange things have been seen or heard during the dark hours of the night.

Just a few days back, I returned to one such place, hoping to witness what I had on an earlier visit. I know that Halloween is just around the corner, and the ghosts and goblins will come out of hiding for a time of trick-or-treating. But I speak of a time when the spirits walked the ancient trails and the sounds of ghost drums could be heard on the winds of the late evenings; places where no one is there but you and the spirits from another time return to the spot.

Hiding my transportation, I carefully descended the steep slope into the deep ravine where in ancient times a large Indian village was located. I didn’t expect to see or hear anything since it was late afternoon, although the deep shadows had already begun to settle across the ancient village site.

Stillness in the ravine

Even though the cool winds sighed through the tall trees there in the huge raving, the stillness in the deep bottom made the hairs on my neck stand at attention. There at ground level, not a leaf or twig seemed to move in the late afternoon air.

There was no doubt in my mind that I was the only one in the deep ravine. In descending the only path into the area, I became aware of the odor of burning wood, as through a small campfire had been kindled a short time prior to my arrival. I had seen no evidence of smoke coming up from the deep ravine as I was climbing down the steep embankment to the ancient village floor.

Puzzled by the odor of the burning wood, I sat down with my back against a high embankment. This village had been used during the cold winter months when the icy winds swept down from the north, bringing with it freezing rain and snow. Under the protection of the high embankment, the brush huts and the glowing campfires were protected as the freezing winds howled high above the deep ravine.

The deep silence of the moment was broken by the rush of a searching armadillo as it hustled through the layers of dead leaves and grass there on the ancient village floor. Passing within inches of my feet, the ugly creature continued to make its way around the edge of the hill.

Strange thumping sounds

As I watched the armadillo disappear, I became aware of strange thumping sounds that seemed to be coming from nowhere. Looking in every direction, I saw nothing to give evidence of what was causing the low thumps that could barely be heard in the area around me.

Realizing that the odor of the burning wood had grown stronger, I slowly rose to my feet, almost expecting to see a small fire burning in the underbrush nearby. But there was nothing; no sign of smoke could be seen.

During earlier visits to this ancient village site, I had located several places where small rocks had been placed in small circles. Inside these were where the cook fires and the fires that warmed the villagers had been built. Looking across to one of the larger circles, the sounds of voices seemed to come from around the circle of rocks.

Some years back, I had visited this site and spent most of a night in the very same spot where I was no sitting. That night, flickers of light could be seen dancing up and around the larger of the rock circles. What appeared to be the muffled sounds of distant drums settled in and around the ancient village.

As I have stated many times in these writings, I have seen many strange happenings as I wander here and there, searching out various stories and tall tales relayed to me. I will be the first to admit that I am not the bravest soul around. I have had the living daylights frightened out of me, and here at this ancient village on an earlier visit was one of those times. Right about now, I was feeling quite uneasy.

Place of mystery

Deciding that it was time to leave this place of mystery, I eased myself up from the large rock where I had been sitting. The air around me seemed to grow heavy as though there were others present. Standing there with my back to the steep rock cliff, the muffled voices seemed to grow in number. No words could be deciphered or understood; the mumblings seemed to grow in magnitude.

Keeping my eyes on the large fire pit, I gradually edged my way backward up the steep dim trail that would eventually lead to the narrow dirt road at the top of the hill. Suddenly, as if some kind of signal had been given, total silence settled over the old village site. Not a leaf or a blade of pine straw moved in the late shadows across the ancient site. No sounds of birds or of any wildlife could be heard there in the bottom. It seemed as though nothing existed there under the tall rock cliff. A blanket of silence had settled across the old village site, almost as if it didn’t exist.

Climbing the steep hill and making my way across the dim trail to where I had hidden my motorcycle, many thoughts raced through my mind. What had I heard there at the bottom of the steep bluff? Were the spirits of another time still occupying the ancient Indian village? Perhaps, they had returned this day for a gathering of a meeting of sorts. Would the ceremonial fires flicker in the coming darkness there in the village? Or would the spirits of the past return at another time for a gathering of dancing and chanting and the beating of drums?

Getting too old

As I slowly made my way out up the dim trail toward the narrow dirt road some distance away, the thought came to mind that I might just be getting too old for this kind of wandering.

The mysteries that linger there at the bottom of the deep ravine might just have two wait until I get up enough nerve to return and stay put when the drums sound and the mystery voices speak from the shadows.

(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, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, 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.)

Singleton believed that Maubila was located at present-day Pine Orchard

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 “An event that changed history,” was originally published in the Oct. 15, 1998 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

Saturday, Oct. 10, 1998, was a quiet day along the banks of the mighty Alabama River at Claiborne. But, this was not the case on Oct. 12, 1540. That day, 458 years ago, the Spanish explorer Hernando DeSoto and his army gathered on the west bank of the mighty river, preparing to make a crossing that would change our history. The day was Tuesday, DeSoto’s scouts had chosen this location because of the low banks. Due to the dry season, the river was at its lowest level.

Two days prior, DeSoto and his army had made camp on the east bank, where the large creek that has come to be known as Silver Creek joins the Alabama. The weary army, after slowly making its way down from the area now known as Cahaba, stopped here. Bad food and probably contaminated water had taken its toll on DeSoto’s followers. The army’s scouts reported that a very large native village was just across the mighty stream. The village was known as Piache. The village sat on the very spot where Alabama River Pulp is now located.

Since the army had landed in this strange and unfamiliar land, things had not gone as well as DeSoto had wished. DeSoto had great expectations of finding riches in the huge villages along the rivers. During his expeditions in South America, he had been told of the legendary “Seven Cities of Gold” that lay to the north. Returning to his native land, he organized another expedition and sailed with his army to the new world, leaving word that when he returned he would be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams.

The river crossing was not an easy one for DeSoto. Timbers had to be cut with which large rafts were made that would bring the heavy armor of his army across the swift river. Along with the army were large herds of swine and cattle that had to be brought across by raft. Due to the fact that the swine couldn’t swim the wide stream, they had to be caught, tied and placed one-by-one on the rafts. Most of the soldiers were suffering from severe dysentery that plagued the army.

Oct. 12, 1540 was a long day for DeSoto as he waited on the east slope, watching his tired, weary army slowly make the dangerous crossing. Several of his war horses, along with many pieces of body armor was lost during the crossing. Many of the swine and cattle that were to feed his army were lost. The river god had demanded his toll.

The river crossing was finally completed Oct. 31. Slowly the weary, rag tag army made its way up the east bank and camped on the outskirts of Piache. The villagers knew the army was coming as their scouts had been keeping track of the approaching army and its herds. The villagers were totally amazed at seeing Spanish soldiers riding war horses toward the village. These were the first horses the Indians had ever seen. A man in full body armor riding the strange animal was very strange indeed.

Through the slave labor of captured Indians, DeSoto had with his army, village medicine men learned of the dysentery. In the deep woods along the river bank, the medicine men gathered a certain type weed and returned to the village. Here, they burned the special weed and mixed the ashes in the food of the suffering army. Soon, the severe dysentery vanished.

Record has it that DeSoto’s army left Piache Oct. 15 and headed northeast into what the Spanish referred to as “the mountainous area.” Their route took them along the high ridges of the Red Hills and Old Scotland areas. At one time at Old Scotland, inscribed on the stone blocks of the old church were the words, “built on the route of DeSoto.” The slow moving army made its way along the high ridges into the area of what is now the community of Pine Orchard. There, in the area where Flat Creek begins was the large village of Maubila. Here, the famed “Battle of Maubila” took place. Here, DeSoto would lose a large number of his trained warriors and many of his war horses. DeSoto himself, received a head wound so severe it affected his ability to reason for the rest of his life. But, that is another story.

Many who read this article probably will disagree with me about the location of Maubila. Our history of Alabama tends to locate Maubila over near the town of Grove Hill in Clarke County. I do not with to be different, nor am I trying to be smart, but over the years, I have done much research on the route of DeSoto, where he and his army crossed the river at Claiborne. I have walked this ancient path inch by inch many times. I have proven to myself, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if the proper research was done, one would find that the large Indian village of what was once Maubila was nestled in the area of what is now Pine Orchard in Monroe County.

So today, Saturday, Oct. 10, 1998, I stand here on the high embankment overlooking the location where 458 years ago the Spanish explorer DeSoto stood. I am reminded that much of our early history is fast fading. Before too long, such events that I have tried to bring to attention of our local citizens will have passed into oblivion. And, the places thereof will know them no more.

“This is the place, stand still my steed. And let me review the scene, and summon from the shadowy past, the forms that once had been.”

(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, was bitten at least twice by venomous snakes, 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.)