Narrative: The Old Bridge

Old Man McManor was the foulest-tempered fellow you ever did see; but he owned and operated the only sawmill over in Camden, so folks had to deal with him. Whenever anyone didn’t pay on time or crossed him, he’d take out his horsewhip and flail at them until they ran away cussing or broke down crying.

One evening McManor was out riding when a coyote scared his horse and it bolted. McManor was thrown down next to the bridge by the sawmill, and his head broke right open. Died instantly. There was a general sigh of relief when the sawmill was taken over by a nice fellow who’d moved to Texas from Kansas.

Everyone thought they’d seen the last of McManor, until one night when Jerry Jones, an old enemy of McManor, made his way home via the old sawmill bridge after drinking at the tavern. Jerry was halfway across the old bridge when a plume of green steam came rising up through the boards of the bridge. He stopped and watched the mist solidify into the translucent body of Old Man McManor. The specter flourished his whip at poor, drunken Jerry, who screamed in terror and went running back the way he had come with the ghost hard on his heels. When Jerry reached the giant pecan tree that shaded the road, the ghost of Old Man McManor vanished at once with another popping sound.

Since Jerry had a reputation for drinking, no one believed his story until the ghost challenged the local parson that Sunday and didn’t stop till the preacher recited some Scripture. McManor continued to harass the townspeople for years, until the first World War when folks began driving cars that were fast enough that the ghost couldn’t catch them.

Folks figured the ghost would give up haunting the bridge after the town got so modern. But mean old McManor still had one last hurrah in him, and it was a doozy. The local football team was driving home in the bus one night after winning a big game, when all at once the bus stalled right in front of McManor’s bridge. Well, the boys started joking around about the ghost, until they noticed that the road outside was glowing green. The boys nudged one another nervously and then turned to look out the rear window of the bus—right into the twisted smile of Old Man McManor.

The boys started shrieking, the teachers chiming in just as loud, and the ghost of Old Man McManor lifted up the back of the bus as if it weighed no more than a rabbit. The team tumbled out of their seats, screaming and praying, and the football coach bravely climbed up the sloping aisle, waving a fist at the ghost in the strange, pulsing green light. Just then the sheriff came roaring over the bridge on the opposite side of the road. As soon as his headlights illuminated the ghost holding the bus, Old Man McManor vanished with a popping sound. The sheriff slammed on his brakes in shock as the school bus and the team crashed to the ground. It wasn’t long after this event that they built a new highway and the old bridge was torn down. The ghost of Old Man McManor hasn’t been seen since. 

 (http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2011/09/the_old_bridge.html)

How the Rainbow Was Made

One day when the earth was new, Nanabozho looked out the window of his house beside the wide waterfall and realized that all of the flowers in his meadow were exactly the same off-white color. How boring! He decided to make a change, so he gathered up his paints and his paintbrushes and went out to the meadow.

Nanabozho sat down in the tall grass and arranged his red and orange and yellow and green and blue and violet paint pots next to him. Then he began to paint the flowers in his meadow in many different colors. He painted the violets dark blue and the tiger lilies orange with brown dots. He made the roses red and pink and purple. He painted the pansies in every color combination he could think of. Then he painted every single daffodil bright yellow. Nanabozho hummed happily to himself as he worked in the brilliant daylight provided by Brother Sun.

Overhead, two little bluebirds were playing games with each other. The first little bluebird would chase his friend across the meadow one way. Then they would turn around and the second bluebird would chase him back the other way. Zippity-zip went the first bluebird as he raced across the sky. Zappity-zing went the second bluebird as he chased him in the brilliant sunshine.

Occasionally, Nanabozho would shade his eyes and look up…up into the endless blue sky to watch the two little birds playing. Then he went back to work, painting yellow centers in the white daisies. Above him, the two birds decided to see how fast they could dive down to the green fields below them. The first bluebird sailed down and down, and then pulled himself up sharply just before he touched the ground. As he soared passed Nanabozho, his right wing dipped into the red paint pot. When the second bluebird dove toward the grass, his left wing grazed the orange paint pot.

Nanabozho scolded the two birds, but they kept up their game, diving down toward the grass where he sat painting and then flying back up into the sky. Soon their feet and feathers were covered with paint of all colors. Finally Nanabozho stood up and waved his arms to shoo the birds away.

Reluctantly, the bluebirds flew away from Nanabozho and his paint pots, looking for another game to play. They started chasing each other again, sailing this way and that over top of the giant waterfall that stood next to Nanabozho's house. Zippity-zip, the first bluebird flew through the misty spray of the waterfall. The first bluebird left a long red paint streak against the sky. Zappity-zing, the second bluebird chased his friend through the mist, leaving an orange paint streak. Then the birds turned to go back the other way. This time, the first bluebird left a yellow paint streak and the second left a pretty blue-violet paint streak. As they raced back and forth, the colors grew more vivid. When Brother Sun shone on the colors, they sparkled radiantly through the mist of the waterfall.

Below them, Nanabozho looked up in delight when the brilliant colors spilled over his meadow. A gorgeous arch of red and orange and yellow and green and blue and violet shimmered in the sky above the waterfall. Nanabozho smiled at the funny little bluebirds and said: "You have made a rainbow!"

Nanabozho was so pleased that he left the rainbow permanently floating above his waterfall, its colors shimmering in the sunshine and the misting water. From that day to this, whenever Brother Sun shines his light on the rain or the mist, a beautiful rainbow forms. It is a reflection of the mighty rainbow that still stands over the waterfall at Nanabozho's house

(http://americanfolklore.net/folklore/2012/10/how_the_rainbow_was_made.html)