About Marc W. Bowman

Marc and Ann BowmanMy name is Marc Bowman and I was born and raised on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Yes, in the glorious Deep South! Some folks would argue that I was “reared,” “one raises cattle, not children.” I don’t think most people know the difference anymore. Nevertheless, I am quite proud of having been raised, along with my five brothers and sisters, in a wonderful little community.

In my formative years I loved the gulf coast, even though I really didn’t know why yet. I was still learning to appreciate what I had: beautiful surroundings including massive moss covered trees, Krebs Lake, the Pascagoula River, the Mississippi Sound, beaches, deep roots, extended family, and a sense of belonging.

Years before I walked this earth, my hometown was named Krebsville, after my ancestors. My paternal grandmother was a Krebs and she was just one of many. Somewhere along the way, while minding their own business, my great-great-great-something-or-other made someone mad, and as things go, “they” decided to take Krebsville, and it became a part of Pascagoula. Krebsville may not have been stolen by Pascagoula, but it’s a true story. All the same, I loved growing up in Pascagoula.

Having roots in the community provided benefits like extended family, lots of friends, and a sense of history. I recall one of the many family gatherings at my Mamaw and Papaw Bowman’s house just down the street from where we lived. My family, my father’s six brothers, their wives, my cousins, and more than a friend or two from every generation, sat around listening to “the brothers” tell stories of all the adventure and trouble they got into growing up in that very house.

My grandfather sat in his chair listening quietly. Every now and then, he set the record straight by interjecting insight that brought the house down. The laughter was so deep it hurt. I remember the laugh and smile of each and every one: Conrad, Gayle, Wayne (my Dad), Ronnie, Paul, Steve, and Daryl.

I will never forget those moments. I loved being around them. I loved their history. I loved the fact that they brought me into their lives with their stories and a lot of laughter, lots of laughter. Even though many of them have passed on, I still love them all.

My mother used to tell my siblings and me about places so far from South Mississippi I could only dream of what it must be like. I remember listening to her stories one day as she loaded the washing machine and she began speaking Chinese! We thought she was amazing. How did we not know she could speak Chinese? Of course, no Chinese person would have recognized her dialect, but we didn’t know that.

She was stretching our imagination and planting deep down inside us a desire to explore, to learn, to see, to make a difference, and be a part of this world in an extraordinary way. She instilled in us the idea that life is to be lived! We could be and do anything we set our minds to. In a sense, she was leading us to create our own stories for the telling.

As I look back on the last 50 plus years, I realize that God has given me many stories to tell. I love it when someone asks me to share one. The most amazing story I ever heard, and one I love to repeat, is not my own. It is His. There is no greater story than that of my savior, Jesus Christ, and I love to tell it. I have a website devoted to His story of salvation and I hope you will visit it.

 

If you are ever in my neck of the woods, drop in. I would love to sit down with you, have a cup of coffee or tea, pull up some old stories, laugh, and tell another one. I can’t wait to hear some of yours.

Blessings, Marc