Inspired by Ezekiel 37:1-10
In a vision God took him up in His hand
And carried him far across strange distant lands
But the Spirit took him to a place he had known
The valley he knew which was full of bones
The Spirit showed him and made him to pass
Around and see them from the first to the last
Tumbled and jumbled and tangled they lay
Dusty and dry in the hot sun that day
They had lain here and dried for many long years
Too dry to feel any hopes, dreams, or fears
So long in the sun, they were so very dry
In the dirt and the grass, beneath the clear sky
The LORD showed him all and then spoke unto him
Concerning the bones so dead and so grim
He asked Ezekiel an answer to give
“Son of man, can these bones ever live?”
Ezekiel looked down at the carnage and sand
And knowing that he was just a mere man
He said to the LORD and answered him so:
LORD you’re the only one who really could know.
Lift up your voice with a message I send
To these bones, and tell them it’s not the end
Though they be dry, and scattered, and torn
Through the word that I send they shall be reborn
Thus sayeth the LORD to the dead in this vale
Though you have lain here desecrated and stale
I will renew your strength, and give you my breath
And bring you again unto life from this death
I will rebuild you and order your bones
And replace the sinew and flesh so long gone
I’ll bring the flesh and cover with skin
And breath into you that ye live once again.
I am the LORD and this ye shall know
When life is returned, and blood starts to flow
I am the Lord who after the strife
Will restore, renew, and give you new life.
So Ezekiel did as the LORD had said
And began to preach to the dry and dead
A noise was heard among the stones
As the bones assembled, bone to his bone
The skeletons formed, each cold bony frame
Was built again as the members each came
Then sinew and flesh began to appear
Muscle and tendon to each did adhere
Skin stretched across these bodies to cover
To contain, hide, and protect them all over
But there was no breath, these to life give
The flesh insufficient to make the dead live
Then said the Lord, “to the wind now speak”
From every direction come breath on these weak
And withered souls so dry and long-scattered
Give new life to the ones who were shattered
So he spoke a prayer to the Spirit wind
Amazed, he saw them stirring again
They lived as the prophet lifted his prayer
And stood on their feet, an army prepared
An army prepared, strong and ready for battle
No longer bones that shiver and rattle
An army prepared to fight for their LORD
Which stood at attention, and in one accord
They waited there, silent, for God’s will to know
For the Word that would come and tell them to go
Men strong and valiant to conquer the world
Under His banner, majestic, unfurled.
Oh Christian who’s weary, defeated and worn
You think it’s all over, you’re mortally torn
And wounded and weak from a battle you lost
Not ready, or willing to again bear the cost.
Hear ye the preaching of God’s chosen man
Who’s brought a new message of God’s perfect plan
Get strength and new power and fresh-given grace
The LORD has a mission, a time and a place
Though your bones be now dry, and you feel there’s no hope
Though you stumble and fall and, and crawl and grope
God is not finished; you’re his soldier and child
God wants to revive, renew, reconcile
God has new life and his Spirit indwells
To revive and renew, as you drink from His well
His Word there to guide, His fire in your heart
The LORD will restore you and grant a new start.
A man, a church, a nation restored
And back in the battle is the will of the LORD.
Preaching and prayer and The Spirit to fill
Put you back in the battle and into God’s will.
James L Frady, June 29, 2023
Yol Bosun - May There Be a Road.
Yol Bosun. It’s a phrase I originally learned from a Louis L’Amour book named “The Walking Drum”. According to that book it’s From an ancient dialect from the area of what is modern Turkey. It translates to “May there be a road.”
Yol Bosun; May there be a road.
Not long after I developed a love for reading, I also developed a love for seeing something just over that horizon, or some place far away that I’d never seen. I suppose it was a natural result that a boy who loved exploring woods, hills, and valleys around my home, would have his imagination drawn to the distant shores and hills described in adventurous tales in the many, many books I devoured as a kid.
First there were books from Pleasant Gardens Elementary School library, then McDowell County public library was a gold mine of new stories about the long ago and far away, or the distant future. Later I exhausted the resources at West McDowell Jr High, Granite Middle School, and South Caldwell High School libraries.
All those books, all those stories burned one thing into my brain. I wanted to see the places, and not just read about them. I wanted skin in the game. My own game. I wanted to travel and wander from place to place and see as much of the world as possible. There was one problem with my dreams. We were poor and travel costs money, and jobs that pay that kind of money required college, and unfortunately that also required money. It seemed like a hopeless cycle of interdependencies with no way out. There was no road.
I worked for my Pop after high school to help him. It didn’t pay much, but I learned a lot and we were close. We had a lot of good times. I enjoyed it the vast majority of the time. After work there was wood to cut and split, gardens to work, grass to mow, and big red sunsets sinking across the mountains in the west. Oh how I watched those sunsets.
I had discovered Louis L’Amour westerns in the South Caldwell library. His poetic and vivid descriptions of the west had captivated me entirely and I longed for those western lands and gigantic mountains.
I took to spending a chunk of my pay each week on gas to fill up my 1974 Chevy Luv. Then on Friday or Saturday I’d go get lost in the mountains hunting places I hadn’t been yet. I would spot a road and turn just to see where it went. It wasn’t much, but there was a road. I did a lot of random driving.
One Friday evening or Saturday morning, a friend, Eric B. mentioned to me that he was talking to a Navy Recruiter about joining up. At that time the Navy’s slogan was: “It’s not just a job, it’s an adventure.” An adventure. Maybe there was a road. And maybe it took me to some of those places.
I worked up the courage to stop and talk to the US Navy Recruiter in Morganton, NC.
He was a Chief Petty Officer, and his name has disappeared down a long hole of years, but he talked to me and made his promises and pulled out an old pipe and puffed it while he talked. I nibbled the bait.
Over the next month or so my rides in the mountains became longer and more thoughtful. I drove, listened to music, and looked at the deep dark hills and valleys along the Blue Ridge. That road was calling me, but I felt obligated to Pop. It was not an easy decision but one day my mind stepped through a threshold and it clicked shut behind me. There was a road.
I told Pop I was going to join the Navy. He didn’t try hard to talk me out of it, he just warned me it wasn’t going to be fun and games.
In February I stepped on a bus in Hickory, NC. and headed to Charlotte to process in. Then it was boot camp in Orlando followed by three electronics schools in Great Lakes Navy Base.
Finally, in August of 1986 I parked my car on Norfolk Naval Station and walked down to the pier. I turned the corner and there she was. My home for the next four years. She was old and smelled of fuel oil. She was amazing. The USS Barney DDG-6.
I’ll leave the individual stories for another time. I had latched on to more than one of my dreams and had made them come true. Now to see the world.
The world is seventy percent water.
I had always loved tales of pirates and islands and seas. Once repairs were completed on the boilers, we hit the tide, headed south, and sailed into the Caribbean Sea. Those islands were everything I had dreamed of and more. The sea was a deep azure blue and clear as glass. The beaches were clean, sandy ribbons around emerald green jungles, and the natives were friendly and helpful, sometimes even for free.
A few weeks of grueling work in Guantanamo Bay for refresher training, aka “RefTra” and we were ready for deployment. There was a road. It was pointed straight at the Mediterranean Sea for six months.
In two deployments with the Barney, we hit almost every place over there I had ever dreamed of and some I had never heard of. I explored castles, cathedrals, countryside, and cities that dated back three thousand years. I ate food I’d never even thought about, most of the time loving it, sometimes gagging on it. I climbed inside the pyramids, climbed mountains, and did a covert hiking trip behind enemy lines in Yugoslavia when the Soviets still controlled that part of the world.
I almost died on a mountain and saved a guys life on the sea.
I walked the roads Jesus walked with his apostles and saw the places where he performed miracles. I knelt in the place he was born, and saw the place where he was crucified. I stood on Mt Carmel and went quietly into Gethsemane.
I saw a jousting tournament in Spain, and walked up and down the French Riviera.
I saw storms on the ocean I’ll never forget. I saw the sea as calm as glass. I froze and cursed the cold. I sweltered and cursed the heat.
Always there was a road. I traveled all that I could.
In November of 1990, I stepped ashore for the last time. I carry a part of that ship and the sea with me to this day.
I was married now. Time to settle down and build a life, so that’s what I did.
A job. A new house. Two absolutely wonderful kids. The mundane, day to day life in rural North Carolina. Chores and honey-do’s.
Sometimes in an unguarded moment, I heard that call. Often I watched the sun set over those ancient mountains with a deep and aching hunger, and thought: “May there be a road”.
For years there was not. Then some opportunities began to send me on far flung trips again. I climbed the Alps in one of the most beautiful countries in the world, Switzerland. I walked the banks of the Danube, and wondered in medieval cities. I’ve ridden trains at 185 mph and went through the deep roots of a mountain on one in the longest tunnel I’ve ever seen.
I’ve hiked into the back country of Wyoming and slept in the winter chill. I’ve woke up to a blizzard and fought my way out with my son leading the way to the truck in near whiteout conditions.
I’ve explored the Southwest and seen it’s Arches and canyons, and sand. Lots and lots of sand. The road is still there.
May there be a road. May there be a road trip. It’s more important to do stuff than it is to have stuff, once you have what you need.
I have read hundreds of science fiction novels in my years. They excite my imagination. As I look out the window at the stars tonight, so distant and beckoning, I whisper quietly to the night. Yol Bosun. May there be a road.
There’s a barred owl down in the hollow
Who – hoo –hoohoo-- hoo – hoo – hoohoo!
Somewhere down there in that darkness
He’s hunting quietly for his food
And though it’s dark and we can’t see him.
I know he is watching me and you
Night-watchman of the dappled forest
Who – hoo –hoohoo-- hoo – hoo – hoohoo!
Down there perched high near the cut-off
While a deer is passing through
The barred owl watches very quietly
To see what the passing deer will do
Perhaps some smaller, hidden critter
Startled by the deer will move
The barred owl calls out in the shadows
Who – hoo –hoohoo-- hoo – hoo – hoohoo!
Here in this pre-dawn, fading darkness
The trees begin to slightly move
They whisper to the fading stars
As a breeze is passing through
Then I hear a sudden motion
He leaves but never comes in view
Flying, bidding me fare thee well
Who – hoo –hoohoo-- hoo – hoo – hoohoo!
© James L Frady January 28, 2023
The squirrel was up there somewhere. I had seen it run through the ground clutter and hit the trunk, circling out of sight as it climbed up the tall, straight oak. It had taken cover in the branches above rather than running out any of the long limbs and jumping into another tree. The problem was that there were just enough leaves left to make it hard to see the whole tree.
I circled the tree slowly and as quietly as possible in the dry leaves lying thick on the hardwood forest floor. Now, I was decent enough at being quiet in the woods. My Pop had taught me at a young age to move as silently as any given terrain would allow. I wasn’t as good as him, but I did okay. Still, the squirrel had my number. As I circled the tree, he circled as well, keeping me on the backside from him at pretty much all times.
I wanted that squirrel in my hunting vest.
Long about then, I looked over at my dog. Now, when I was in the woods I talked to my dog just like he was my best friend, which to a large degree he was. His name was “Bar Killer”, after a dog in a certain movie I had seen a couple of times. He was a Plot Hound.
Plott hounds are fantastic hunting dogs. They are fearless and tenacious, bold and agile, yet gentle, warm and affectionate to their people. Originating in Germany as a breed known as Hanover Hounds, the dog arrived on our shores in 1750. A German immigrant named Johannes Plott arrived with five of the original breed and promptly headed back into the mountains of North Carolina. There he settled and built a family and started breeding his dogs while using them to hunt bear and wild boar. Johannes was determined not to breed his dogs with the locals but his son eventually did, and the modern Plott hound came to exist. It is the state dog of North Carolina.
My Plott came from a litter at a yard sale. My mom saw them, picked one out and brought it to me. She told me she saw them and “just knew” I would want one, even though, at the time I already had a very large snow-white German Shepard named “Bigfoot”.
Since Plotts are bred for boar and bear hunting, and since I had recently seen that movie, Bar Killer was the moniker I hung on him. He never complained about it in front of me.
My dogs were free-range. I let them roam and they knew where home was. I could step out on the porch and yell and they’d be there as fast as their legs could carry them. They somehow managed to stay out of trouble, but we had uncounted acres below us along the shore of Lake Rhodhiss, and they could roam around without being in the neighbors’ yards, or chasing their animals. I think that’s one reason my dogs were so smart. They got out and learned from experience.
Getting back to my squirrel, I looked at my dog and thought that if he would help me out I could get that squirrel. Bar Killer was about ten feet to my right just sniffing around where that squirrel had passed through on the run. “Hey Bar Killer.” I said softly and clucked my tongue. He looked my way.
“Go around the tree!” I said, while pointing with my index finger and rotating it with my wrist. “Go around the tree!” I repeated two or three more times, finally looping my finger in a bigger circle. With my whole arm. He cocked his head at me, turned and, (if I’m lying I’m dying), walked around the tree about twenty feet out from the trunk.
That squirrel heard the dog and thought it was me and quick as a blink was around that tree on my side. I angled my shotgun up and in a quick snap shot the squirrel came tumbling down. He was mine. Well almost. You see, when I shot that squirrel he launched out into space and arched gracefully through the air to land about equal distances from myself and Bar Killer. What followed was a short property dispute. Bar Killer wanted to take credit for that kill and in his mind that squirrel belonged to him. In my mind that squirrel was halfway to being squirrel dumplings and I meant to have it.
We both dove for that squirrel. I’d like to say I was faster, but you wouldn’t believe me. Bar Killer edged me out by about a second and had the squirrel, but I managed to get his collar.
“Now Bar Killer, you know that ain’t how this works. I’m the hunter and you’re the hunting dog, and I get the game.” He wasn’t buying in. “Tell you what buddy, you give me the squirrel and I’ll make sure you get a bowl of dumplings “. He still wasn’t sure but he loosened up on the squirrel a little bit. “Okay, I’ll give you all the scraps when I clean him, plus a bowl of dumplings.” He finally relented and we went on.
We went on down that hollow and around the lake shore hunting and came out near the point of land on the right side of Hayes Neck on Lake Rhodhiss. As I recall we got five squirrels in all. Bar Killer only helped me with a couple of them, but I gave him the scraps anyway and even shared some with Bigfoot.
When mom made those squirrel dumplings I ate my complete fill. My mom made the best squirrel dumplings in the country as far as I’m concerned, but I’m a little biased, and in reality, I’m pretty certain I never ate anyone else’s until my son and I made some a few years ago.
Bar Killer certainly loved his bowl.
(C) James L Frady January 17, 2023
The Wolf Moon is shining in the January sky.
A few ragged clouds are drifting by.
The stars are drowned in the Wolf Moon glow
In the hollow I hear the cold wind blow.
I see the moon as old as time
Shining down bright right into my mind
I wonder at the things it has seen
Illuminated in its misty sheen
There is no age that has come and gone
That the moon did not see from its frigid home
Down by the creek an old owl hoots
Across the sky a falling star shoots
The coyotes howl and yip below
Hunting in the night by the Wolf Moon glow.
I see the moon and feel its mystique
Calling my soul to venture and seek
Something my mind cannot quite define
Something my ancestors lost in time
I know this Moon will fade and be gone
But the desire to wander goes on and on.
©James L Frady January 5, 2023
