Wednesday, October 18, 2006


As I drove to school this morning, I was shown a poignant analogy. I drove along, concentrating on the road and cars around me; after a few minutes, I finally looked up and saw one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen. The Rocky Mountains glowed in the light of the rising sun, lightly covered in snow, with a layer of clouds between the peaks and the foothills. When I saw how the sole focus on the details and tasks of this world shut out the beauty of creation, it seemed like the same focus on the small things in life can shut out the wonders of God. Are we concentrating too much on ourselves, on our jobs and tasks? Are we ignoring God in favor of ourselves? Look up, see the mountains; focus not on yourself, but on God.

Monday, October 02, 2006

An explanation

The two posts below this may require some explanation. I'm attempting to write some fiction, and this is the form it has taken. I thought that my blog would be a good place to get feedback on it, as it is written in segments and could be posted as such. Let me know what you think.

The Fowlstien Letters, Letter 1

When looking through an old attic, for I am wont to do those sorts of things on occasion, I came across a box of letters. This is not unusual, and often leads to exciting insight into the lives of those who wrote them. However, when I began to read these letters, I discovered the most extraordinary story. They were written by an archaeologist by the name of Dr. Fowlstien. He was a brilliant man, and made quite a stir in the archeology circles in his younger days. These letters told the tale of his later years, a time I had thought he spent in obscurity, living off of past glories. I could not have been more wrong. These letters tell of his final, and greatest discovery, and of his quest to gain the ear of unbelieving investors, and an even more unbelieving public. It is a tragedy that his story has not been told before, and so, I humbly take on the task of doing so. It will not be through my words, however, that you learn his story, but through his own. As you read the correspondence that Dr. Fowlstien sent to those from whom he hoped to gain financial support, you will learn is his story far better than I could ever tell it. I have changed many of the names to protect the innocent.

July 21, 1953

To the Board of Trustees,


As you know, I have devoted my life to the study of lost civilizations. Over the years I have made many important discoveries, but none so important as that to which I have devoted the last decade of my life to uncovering. What I have found is possibly the most earth shattering discovery that we have ever made. It is clear to me now that humanity is not the only species to have a civilization. Indeed, there are still remnants of another, great civilization. It dates back to a time when the world was not entirely populated with humanity, a time when the world was ruled not by man, but by the most unlikely of all creatures, that which we now know as Gallus gallus domesticus1.

What was this civilization like? How did they live? The purpose of these letters, ladies and gentlemen, is to reveal to you the answer to these, and many other questions. I will begin with the first evidence I found of this great civilization: an epic scratched into an ancient tomb in the mountains of Austria. It is the story of a great hero who rose from the ranks of mere fowl to become the savior of his people. It was called “The Ballad of Swooprren,” and I have done my best to translate it into English for you.

Plow was laid to field that day,

a day like any other.

Children bathed in dust that day,

a day like any other.

Swooprren watched his flock that day,

a day like any other.

“Ho there, Hi there!” he cried.

His flock did hop about.

“Tis a fine day to live,” he cried

His flock did hop about.

And then came evil, dark and swift,

on that unsuspecting day.

It swept o'er land, and coop and home.

The darkness covered everything, and took all joy and song.

“Tis wrong!” the toadherd did cry,

“For us to suffer so.”

He took up his spurs and mounted his hog,

he rode forth that fateful day.

He rode forth to right those dreadful wrongs,

wrought on the world that day.

“To arms, my brothers!” Cried the lad,

he called on Gimmiza, Marans, and Red.

“To arms, this day, we fight that dark,

which covers our fair land.”

And so they rose, led by the lad, an army like none other.

Riding on a mighty boar, he led them to dark plains,

where waited for them, darker still, an army of such terror,

that had they been not led by him, they would have never stood.

For Swooprren was their leader now, no toadherd any longer.

He stood upon the battlefield, his spurs shone brightly in the gloom.

He paused before the battlefield, and looked upon his foe.

His men were brave, but ill-equipped.

His enemies were many: armed with longspurs, shield, and bow.

His men were brave, they stood their ground.

His enemies advanced.

A mighty war cry came from him, and so he led the charge.

The battle, it was fierce that day,

A day of darkness and of gloom.

For Swooprren fought as no one could,

and struck the darkness left and right.

He fought with spur, and shield and bow,

he fought like Featherbane.

He led his men to victory, and struck off Gloomwing's head.

But as the last dark warrior fell, so did tragedy.

Cruel fate was not content,

to let the victory be sweet.

For Swooprren, hero, general, friend,

was hit by one last blow.

His head was lost,

but there was hope, for he did not fall.

Swooprren lost his head that day, but lived to tell the tale.

He could not fight, nor lead thereafter,

but he did live, and show his courage.

He lived without his head, tis true,

for many a long month.

Until that mighty hero could

no more, no more endure.

The day he died, we all did mourn.

And this we did in honor,

of him who died to free us from

our darkest, evil hour.

He is dead, and we are free,

and so we lay him here,

inside this stone, which shall endure,

and tell his story to all who care,

and all who would be free.

We pray the one who reads this now, remember our evil hour,

recall what we, the brave few did

but most of all, we pray thee,

never forget the hero who led us to this place,

recall and sing the ballad of the greatest rooster of our time.


The discovery of this tomb was the first of many discoveries that has led me to conclude that an ancient land of Chickentopia did exist. I shall share more with you in my next report. Until that time, I wish you all well, and ask that you would give careful consideration to my request that you fund my next expedition.


Doctor Theodore Norris Fowlstien

1The Domestic Chicken