The Grain

Coming over the valley floor an afternoon ago, Bohan Dillon saw him a storm coming over the foothills. Now old Bohan, he knew the millers there in the valley weren’t getting enough wind to grind ’em some grain. Bein’ in a good mood he saw’s how he could help.

And so he ran at them there foothills where the windmills were. He got close as the storm reckoned to pass on by.

But no, Bohan he blew at the top o’ that storm and blew hard. Well that storm just up and stopped right over them mills. For days! That year the millers milled more bushels of grain than afore or after.

The Long Sunset

One day Bohan Dillon approached the Ocean. The Sun looked at him and said, “Bet you can’t stop me settin’.”

Well, Ol’ Bohan looked right back at the Sun and he said, “Reckon I can.” And with that he done put on his wolfskin mitts, grabbed him a-hold of that there Sun, and he held her up in the sky for hours.

That’s the day ever’one knows as the Long Sunset.


Oysters used to be land critters. They scurried, they brayed, they woke before the Sun.

That got to Ol’ Bohan, though. Y’see, he usually wasn’t no early riser iff’n unless something needed doing. But them oysters, they took up in front of his cabin and didn’t quit. Bohan, he had a lick of patience, but after months of this he’d had enough. One morning the oysters was lowing just a mite too loud and out stormed Bohan.

For hours and hours he hurled the oysters into the sea. Their cries attracted their brethren to the ocean until they was just one big floating mess. That’s when Father Fish waggled his weedy beard and turned them oysters into what you see today.

And Ol’ Bohan got some rest.