As a little girl my dad would take me to the beach not only in warm weather to enjoy the sand and water, but also in the spring and fall. There, we would spend hours and hours scouring the beach for fossils.
Every now and then as I walked up and down the shoreline, I would cast a longing eye at the water as it frothed back and forth over the sand. I tried very hard not to think on how much I wished that we could go swimming. With a deep resolve I decided to make the best of the situation. Besides, I thought to myself, I didn’t know anyone else whose dad ever took them fossil hunting. It was at least something different to do.
Of course, there was another source of inspiration. You see, my father had once found a perfectly fossilized trilobite in it's entirety. Whenever he let me hold it, I felt like I was holding a miracle of nature within my hands. This treasure impressed me so very much, and I thought my father was a true hero for having found it.
If he could do it, then so could I.
With my mind keenly intent of finding a genuine dinosaur fossil, I would walk gingerly among the rocks kicking them back and forth until I finally spotted a rock with some sort of anomaly. These anomalies could be anything from a strange squiggle to a vague formation. I would then rush it over to a part of the beach where I would find dad standing with his head bent over a very large rock, staring at it, fixated.
“Is this a fossil?” I asked, placing the rock in his hand.
The time that it took for him to make his assessment seemed to take forever.
He would look at one side, purse his lips, flip it over and then make a few vague and undefinable hums and haws.
When the answer was “Yes,” I was most pleasantly surprised.
When the answer was “No,” I wasn’t surprised at all.
By the end of the day, we would place all the fossils we had collected in a waiting cardboard box inside the car which usually laid on the floor behind the driver’s seat. I would have proudly collected maybe five or six fossils and dad usually had about the same amount. The only difference was that his fossils were far better than mine.
Once we reached home, our weighty loot would then be transferred into the house, much to my mothers chagrin. Thankfully, she would never disallow the fossils, but rather rolled her eyes heavenward as if to ask for strength. Then closing her eyes, she would nod and give a sad and heavy sigh of approval.
To this day, I store my treasured fossils in glass vases, which I am sure is the REAL reason that see through glass vases were invented. When my father passed away, the flowers I received were placed in mason jars. The glass vases filled with his fossils were left undisturbed.
As an adult, I have learned two lessons now that I have reflected back on this childhood memory.
The first lesson is that fossils are forever.
The second lesson is that fathers are not.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Gettysburg ~ A Walk Among Heroes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
June 7th, 2010
Gettysburg ~ Day Three, p.m.
Do you remember the analogy about floating icebergs. They say that on the average, only ten percent is visible above the water’s surface. We cannot see, or comprehend the vastness of the ninety percent that remains underwater.
The same can be said of Gettysburg National Park. Those who insist on seeing this beautiful American treasure from only inside of their car miss out on history, art, nature, beauty and serenity not to mention the small furry animals and odd ladybug.
To truly see Gettysburg, you have to take a walk. The vast majority of history featured here is not accessible by car. If one is going to take the time and money to come here, you have wasted both if you’re not willing to put your car in park and be willing to leave it behind as you venture out on foot.
And that is exactly what we will be doing this afternoon... going for a nice long walk.
I have made this walk many times before and in all types of weather too.
The most memorable are the walks in inclement weather. The shortest walks are those in high heat and humidity. As for today, I cannot remember ever having better weather. There is a redeeming wind. the likes I have never experienced here before.
Leaving the hotel, we cross Baltimore St. and turn left. Within two minutes we enter the gates to the Gettysburg National Cemetery. Staying to right of the park, I make a heading for “The Friend to Friend Monument.” This statue shows wounded Confederate General Armistead being aided by Union Captain Bingham directly after Pickett’s Charge.
After realizing that he had been seriously wounded, Armistead gave the Masonic sign of distress. This was immediately recognized by Bingham who came to his immediate aid.
This story proves to me that there are more important things in life than tolerating without question, the segregating lines that so often separate us.
As we continue along through the grounds we pass by fresh graves adorned with flowers, wreaths, banners, toys and no doubt, tears. These are from American soldiers who have recently fallen.
All these graves prove that history continues to be made as the epitaphs for these recently fallen proudly prove. Though the loss we feel is constant and unremitting, there is comfort to be found in the knowledge that these soldiers too, have fought for, and won the high ground.
We are silent as we walk among Heroes.
After a time, we have passed through the cemetery and then back again. Our adventure continues across Baltimore St. and up to Cemetery Hill.
Things are a little different on Cemetery Hill than I remember. New statues seem to have been dedicated and there are new markers along the street explaining the events of battle in chronological order.
The changes that strike me as most significant however is the obvious care that is being given to these grounds. The landscaping is exemplary and the cannons have been painted and polished to a high gloss. It pleases me that my favorite shade tree still stands to provide such stately beauty that only old and wizened trees can give.
Our walk ends with a sunset visit to O’Rorkes Pub. We sit outside on the patio with a couple of cold ones and revel in the moment.
Like I said before, those who insist on rushing through Gettysburg without getting out of their car don’t know what they’re missing.
Cheers!
June 7th, 2010
Gettysburg ~ Day Three, p.m.
Do you remember the analogy about floating icebergs. They say that on the average, only ten percent is visible above the water’s surface. We cannot see, or comprehend the vastness of the ninety percent that remains underwater.
The same can be said of Gettysburg National Park. Those who insist on seeing this beautiful American treasure from only inside of their car miss out on history, art, nature, beauty and serenity not to mention the small furry animals and odd ladybug.
To truly see Gettysburg, you have to take a walk. The vast majority of history featured here is not accessible by car. If one is going to take the time and money to come here, you have wasted both if you’re not willing to put your car in park and be willing to leave it behind as you venture out on foot.
And that is exactly what we will be doing this afternoon... going for a nice long walk.
I have made this walk many times before and in all types of weather too.
The most memorable are the walks in inclement weather. The shortest walks are those in high heat and humidity. As for today, I cannot remember ever having better weather. There is a redeeming wind. the likes I have never experienced here before.
Leaving the hotel, we cross Baltimore St. and turn left. Within two minutes we enter the gates to the Gettysburg National Cemetery. Staying to right of the park, I make a heading for “The Friend to Friend Monument.” This statue shows wounded Confederate General Armistead being aided by Union Captain Bingham directly after Pickett’s Charge.
After realizing that he had been seriously wounded, Armistead gave the Masonic sign of distress. This was immediately recognized by Bingham who came to his immediate aid.
This story proves to me that there are more important things in life than tolerating without question, the segregating lines that so often separate us.
As we continue along through the grounds we pass by fresh graves adorned with flowers, wreaths, banners, toys and no doubt, tears. These are from American soldiers who have recently fallen.
All these graves prove that history continues to be made as the epitaphs for these recently fallen proudly prove. Though the loss we feel is constant and unremitting, there is comfort to be found in the knowledge that these soldiers too, have fought for, and won the high ground.
We are silent as we walk among Heroes.
After a time, we have passed through the cemetery and then back again. Our adventure continues across Baltimore St. and up to Cemetery Hill.
Things are a little different on Cemetery Hill than I remember. New statues seem to have been dedicated and there are new markers along the street explaining the events of battle in chronological order.
The changes that strike me as most significant however is the obvious care that is being given to these grounds. The landscaping is exemplary and the cannons have been painted and polished to a high gloss. It pleases me that my favorite shade tree still stands to provide such stately beauty that only old and wizened trees can give.
Our walk ends with a sunset visit to O’Rorkes Pub. We sit outside on the patio with a couple of cold ones and revel in the moment.
Like I said before, those who insist on rushing through Gettysburg without getting out of their car don’t know what they’re missing.
Cheers!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Gettysburg ~ The Charge for Wool
Monday, June 7th, 2010
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As we head back from the morning’s adventures, we approach the core of downtown Gettysburg which is composed of a traffic circle which veers off into all four directions. To me this is proof positive that not only do all roads lead to Rome, but to Gettysburg as well.
As we are about to turn and drive down Baltimore Street, my husband surprises me by pulling into a vacant parking spot. This was not expected and can mean only one thing.
Wool store.
Noticing that the ancient parking meter is on empty, I begin to rummage through my purse for change. All I can find is a nickle and a dime.
Fifteen cents.
This meagre offering to those who wander the corridors of Gettysburg City Hall is quickly inserted into the meter. I hold my breath and wait for the metre to render it's verdict.
We are granted eight minutes.
Knowing that it is impossible for me to make a formidable wool purchase in a mere eight minutes, I instantly begin another assault on my poor purse in a search for more change... any change. All I can find is Canadian coinage. Let me tell you, there is a weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Seven minutes. Grrr.
At six minutes, I give up and make a run for the street corner. Now, in the past, crossing at these corners have always scared me, as there are no traffic lights. In the past, townspeople would take pity me as they see me waiting for the oncoming cars to pass. They would correctly tell me that there is no need to wait because the traffic must yield to me. Still, I waited.
This time, as I approach the corner, I don’t even look to check for oncoming traffic before as I step out onto the street. My actions take me completely by surprise. Something about me has changed, but what could it be? Why am I not afraid?
The answer comes to me in a heartbeat. Since I was last here, I have had the experience of trying to cross the streets of Rome. If I can cross a street of bumper to bumper traffic with overly aggressive Roman drivers who solemnly believe that traffic rules are inconsequential and my life a triviality, I can certainly cross a mere little street in downtown Gettysburg.
I am Spartacus.
Five minutes.
In less than a minute, I have quickly walked the entire block length, eyes keenly fastened to each shop window, for the familiar and decorative skeins of freshly spun yarn that are usually hanging there. As I reach the opposite street corner I am beginning to fear the worst. Turning around, I go back the length of the street, eyes straining, but to no avail.
The yarn store is no longer here.
Sadly, I begin to head back to the car.
In my mind, I can easily make sense of it. In a struggling economy, a business committed to wools, fibers, silks, knitting needles, weaving looms, and spinning wheels is of little use to those who are having a hard time paying rent and putting food on the table.
As I reach the car, I still have one minute on the meter. At least that crisis has now passed.
As we pull away, I am not the least bit bitter or upset. I am content in the knowledge that the sun will continue to rise and set whether or not I get my holiday yarn fix.
What I find confusing however, is that in the three blocks or so back to our hotel, I count four shops advertising psychic readings, fortune telling, dragon potions, charms & crystals, fairy dust, and tarot cards.
Business is obviously steady, as I see customers going in and coming out.
Suddenly, I am confronted with an altogether new and unexpected lesson on human nature and life's priorities.
Okay...
Now I’m bitter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As we head back from the morning’s adventures, we approach the core of downtown Gettysburg which is composed of a traffic circle which veers off into all four directions. To me this is proof positive that not only do all roads lead to Rome, but to Gettysburg as well.
As we are about to turn and drive down Baltimore Street, my husband surprises me by pulling into a vacant parking spot. This was not expected and can mean only one thing.
Wool store.
Noticing that the ancient parking meter is on empty, I begin to rummage through my purse for change. All I can find is a nickle and a dime.
Fifteen cents.
This meagre offering to those who wander the corridors of Gettysburg City Hall is quickly inserted into the meter. I hold my breath and wait for the metre to render it's verdict.
We are granted eight minutes.
Knowing that it is impossible for me to make a formidable wool purchase in a mere eight minutes, I instantly begin another assault on my poor purse in a search for more change... any change. All I can find is Canadian coinage. Let me tell you, there is a weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Seven minutes. Grrr.
At six minutes, I give up and make a run for the street corner. Now, in the past, crossing at these corners have always scared me, as there are no traffic lights. In the past, townspeople would take pity me as they see me waiting for the oncoming cars to pass. They would correctly tell me that there is no need to wait because the traffic must yield to me. Still, I waited.
This time, as I approach the corner, I don’t even look to check for oncoming traffic before as I step out onto the street. My actions take me completely by surprise. Something about me has changed, but what could it be? Why am I not afraid?
The answer comes to me in a heartbeat. Since I was last here, I have had the experience of trying to cross the streets of Rome. If I can cross a street of bumper to bumper traffic with overly aggressive Roman drivers who solemnly believe that traffic rules are inconsequential and my life a triviality, I can certainly cross a mere little street in downtown Gettysburg.
I am Spartacus.
Five minutes.
In less than a minute, I have quickly walked the entire block length, eyes keenly fastened to each shop window, for the familiar and decorative skeins of freshly spun yarn that are usually hanging there. As I reach the opposite street corner I am beginning to fear the worst. Turning around, I go back the length of the street, eyes straining, but to no avail.
The yarn store is no longer here.
Sadly, I begin to head back to the car.
In my mind, I can easily make sense of it. In a struggling economy, a business committed to wools, fibers, silks, knitting needles, weaving looms, and spinning wheels is of little use to those who are having a hard time paying rent and putting food on the table.
As I reach the car, I still have one minute on the meter. At least that crisis has now passed.
As we pull away, I am not the least bit bitter or upset. I am content in the knowledge that the sun will continue to rise and set whether or not I get my holiday yarn fix.
What I find confusing however, is that in the three blocks or so back to our hotel, I count four shops advertising psychic readings, fortune telling, dragon potions, charms & crystals, fairy dust, and tarot cards.
Business is obviously steady, as I see customers going in and coming out.
Suddenly, I am confronted with an altogether new and unexpected lesson on human nature and life's priorities.
Okay...
Now I’m bitter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, June 7, 2010
Gettysburg ~ Day Three a.m.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Forward men, forward for God’s sake
& drive those fellows out of those woods.”
Maj. Gen. John F. Reynolds U.S.A.
Commander, First Army Corps.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Those were very likely the final words of Union General Reynolds before he was killed by a Confederate sniper’s bullet. This morning I found myself placing a flag at the very spot where he fell.
The engagement occurred on July 1, 1863 at about 8:00 a.m. It involved 7000 confederate troops attacking 3,200 dismantled Union Cavalry.
We are on Reynolds Avenue. A wide expanse of gently rolling ground. No wonder Generals on both sides wanted control of this land so badly. It is easy to ascertain that it was the ever coveted “high ground.”
No more are there sounds of cannon and gunfire. Rather, they have given way to the sound of a cacophony of birds noisily resounding us with song from all sides as well as annoyed mothers chastising their children to be mindful of the narrow road and the cars driving by.
Several years ago as I toured through one of the museums here in Gettysburg, I came across two rather plain wooden chairs sitting on display, side by side.
Now, what could be so important about these chairs, I wondered as I leaned closer to the glass so that I could read the page of text which described their significance.
I read how General Reynolds used these two chairs as a bed the night shortly before the battle which ended his life.
The sky is again grey, telling me that the weatherman made the wrong call this morning when he announced that we were in for a sparkling day. The only sign of blue is a narrow strip along the horizon.
As we drive along Buford Avenue we find ourselves at The Peace Memorial, which was dedicated by President Franklin D. Roosevelt during the observance of the 75th anniversary of the battle of Gettysburg. If you have ever watched Ken and Rick Burns Civil War Series, there are actual clips of film showing President
Roosevelt speaking to a vast audience which includes a number of Civil War Veterans.
On this memorial is an inscription which is cut deep both in stone and meaning.
It reads:
“With firmness in the right
...as God gives us to see the right.”
Abraham Lincoln
In an effort to get a clear picture of this statement, I take it upon myself to try and climb two very steep stairs. My attempt at the first one succeeds quite well and with grace to boot, but stepping up to the second one brings me quickly to my knees. Once again, I am reminded that I’m not a kid anymore. Still, I made it up and got the shot. ...Yay!
After a little while, I take a seat at a very lovely stone bench alongside this monument. Taking a good look around me I notice something strange about the circle of trees running the perimeter of the park directly behind the monument.
All of their branches are leaning directly towards the monument. There are no branches, leaves, twigs or otherwise reaching in any other direction. I find this most intriguing.
It is then that I spot a dead bee lying on a stone block only inches from my feet. I gently kick it into the waiting clover of green and purple which is only a few more inches away. Certainly, this a more fitting burial for a bee that to be ultimately squished by an unobservant and uncaring foot.
It is about that time that a pathway catches my eye. The curved pathway gives no hint as to what lies beyond. I am immediately smitten and Robert Frost’s, “The Road Not Taken,” instantly comes to mind. I know that I must follow this path and let it lead me where it will.
Through profuse bushes of orange and white honeysuckle I am led to an opening which frames two very different and very large trees in all their glory. One is straight ahead and leans seductively into a big red barn. The other is off to my left and sits alone in the middle of a field of wildflowers. After a few moments, these images are captured in the digital memory of my camera, for all time. As I turn, I hear a rustle in the brush just in front of me. In silence, I wait for a few moments to catch a glimpse of some sort of small furry animal but to no avail.
It seems that not only do ghosts run and hide from me, but now animal wildlife does too.
As I turn and follow the path back to where my segway began, I pause for a moment to stop and smell the honeysuckle.
As we head out we stop in one last place.
I’m not sure why, but I am drawn to old cemeteries. Catching a glimpse of one out of the corner of my eye, we stop the car and with camera firmly in hand, I walk towards it in a reverential quickstep.
It is the Gettysburg Almshouse Cemetery. The graves that I encounter go back to the 1870’s. The picket fence surrounds what I guess to be about two acres of land. There are maybe fifty to sixty graves here. The headstones are simple but in good shape. Two have been vandalized.
Towards the back corner, the graves seem to haphazardly clumped together. There are no headstones here. Only small signs of green plastic no bigger than a postcard. The dates begin at 1997 and go up. The very name Almshouse Cemetery tells me that this is most likely a paupers cemetery.
After returning to my room, I immediately do a search on the computer and find out that this cemetery was prepared for the indigent and insane.
As I ponder this I am reminded of the small bee which now rests for all time in the clover.
I am very thankful for those who saw fit to provide a proper resting place for those buried in the Almshouse Cemetery. Otherwise, they too would have fallen underfoot and unobserved and in effect, be ultimately forgotten by history.
For more information on Gettysburg Almhouse Cemetery please visit:
http://agraveconcern.wordpress.com/2010/05/10/gettysburg-almshouse-cemetery/
“Forward men, forward for God’s sake
& drive those fellows out of those woods.”
Maj. Gen. John F. Reynolds U.S.A.
Commander, First Army Corps.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Those were very likely the final words of Union General Reynolds before he was killed by a Confederate sniper’s bullet. This morning I found myself placing a flag at the very spot where he fell.
The engagement occurred on July 1, 1863 at about 8:00 a.m. It involved 7000 confederate troops attacking 3,200 dismantled Union Cavalry.
We are on Reynolds Avenue. A wide expanse of gently rolling ground. No wonder Generals on both sides wanted control of this land so badly. It is easy to ascertain that it was the ever coveted “high ground.”
No more are there sounds of cannon and gunfire. Rather, they have given way to the sound of a cacophony of birds noisily resounding us with song from all sides as well as annoyed mothers chastising their children to be mindful of the narrow road and the cars driving by.
Several years ago as I toured through one of the museums here in Gettysburg, I came across two rather plain wooden chairs sitting on display, side by side.
Now, what could be so important about these chairs, I wondered as I leaned closer to the glass so that I could read the page of text which described their significance.
I read how General Reynolds used these two chairs as a bed the night shortly before the battle which ended his life.
The sky is again grey, telling me that the weatherman made the wrong call this morning when he announced that we were in for a sparkling day. The only sign of blue is a narrow strip along the horizon.
As we drive along Buford Avenue we find ourselves at The Peace Memorial, which was dedicated by President Franklin D. Roosevelt during the observance of the 75th anniversary of the battle of Gettysburg. If you have ever watched Ken and Rick Burns Civil War Series, there are actual clips of film showing President
Roosevelt speaking to a vast audience which includes a number of Civil War Veterans.
On this memorial is an inscription which is cut deep both in stone and meaning.
It reads:
“With firmness in the right
...as God gives us to see the right.”
Abraham Lincoln
In an effort to get a clear picture of this statement, I take it upon myself to try and climb two very steep stairs. My attempt at the first one succeeds quite well and with grace to boot, but stepping up to the second one brings me quickly to my knees. Once again, I am reminded that I’m not a kid anymore. Still, I made it up and got the shot. ...Yay!
After a little while, I take a seat at a very lovely stone bench alongside this monument. Taking a good look around me I notice something strange about the circle of trees running the perimeter of the park directly behind the monument.
All of their branches are leaning directly towards the monument. There are no branches, leaves, twigs or otherwise reaching in any other direction. I find this most intriguing.
It is then that I spot a dead bee lying on a stone block only inches from my feet. I gently kick it into the waiting clover of green and purple which is only a few more inches away. Certainly, this a more fitting burial for a bee that to be ultimately squished by an unobservant and uncaring foot.
It is about that time that a pathway catches my eye. The curved pathway gives no hint as to what lies beyond. I am immediately smitten and Robert Frost’s, “The Road Not Taken,” instantly comes to mind. I know that I must follow this path and let it lead me where it will.
Through profuse bushes of orange and white honeysuckle I am led to an opening which frames two very different and very large trees in all their glory. One is straight ahead and leans seductively into a big red barn. The other is off to my left and sits alone in the middle of a field of wildflowers. After a few moments, these images are captured in the digital memory of my camera, for all time. As I turn, I hear a rustle in the brush just in front of me. In silence, I wait for a few moments to catch a glimpse of some sort of small furry animal but to no avail.
It seems that not only do ghosts run and hide from me, but now animal wildlife does too.
As I turn and follow the path back to where my segway began, I pause for a moment to stop and smell the honeysuckle.
As we head out we stop in one last place.
I’m not sure why, but I am drawn to old cemeteries. Catching a glimpse of one out of the corner of my eye, we stop the car and with camera firmly in hand, I walk towards it in a reverential quickstep.
It is the Gettysburg Almshouse Cemetery. The graves that I encounter go back to the 1870’s. The picket fence surrounds what I guess to be about two acres of land. There are maybe fifty to sixty graves here. The headstones are simple but in good shape. Two have been vandalized.
Towards the back corner, the graves seem to haphazardly clumped together. There are no headstones here. Only small signs of green plastic no bigger than a postcard. The dates begin at 1997 and go up. The very name Almshouse Cemetery tells me that this is most likely a paupers cemetery.
After returning to my room, I immediately do a search on the computer and find out that this cemetery was prepared for the indigent and insane.
As I ponder this I am reminded of the small bee which now rests for all time in the clover.
I am very thankful for those who saw fit to provide a proper resting place for those buried in the Almshouse Cemetery. Otherwise, they too would have fallen underfoot and unobserved and in effect, be ultimately forgotten by history.
For more information on Gettysburg Almhouse Cemetery please visit:
http://agraveconcern.wordpress.com/2010/05/10/gettysburg-almshouse-cemetery/
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Gettysburg~ Day Two
I awoke this morning to news reports of severe thunderstorm warnings in our area. This was not a good sign. Tornadoes seemed to be happening everywhere, including Pennsylvania where one person has already been reported killed.
By the time we were ready to make a “go” or “no go” decision as to whether or not to set out for our first drive through Gettysburg National Park, the weather seemed give us a bit of a reprieve. And so, the decision was for a “go.”
I do not quite understand what it is that makes me want to experience this journey through Gettysburg National Park over and over again. What I can tell you is that this desire is a powerful one.
As we enter the park grounds we are met with the lush greenery which for some reason, I always sense as remarkable. Also, there are hundreds and hundreds of monuments in all sorts of imaginable shapes, size and colors. None of them are small however, and rightly so. Each one is dedicated to those who served and fought here.
By the time we stopped the car to get out and breath in the land, there were the odd raindrops to welcome us and we did not mind them a bit. Among the stops we made on this particular journey were the Tennessee Memorial and the Lee Monument.
It is indeed a very big stretch to the imagination when you try to imagine the utter carnage that took place here 147 years ago. There’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to. However, we are here to acknowledge what happened here.
Abraham Lincoln said it all to well...
"The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract."
Nothing can change what happened here. It is what it is. What overcomes my senses here is an overwhelming sense of peace. May it always be so.
As far as I know, one of the latest monuments to be added was the Longstreet Memorial. I believe this stature was made possible partly because of the efforts of actor Tom Berenger who played General Longstreet in the epic movie “Gettysburg.”
What came as a pleasant and unexpected surprise however was to see an encampment a hundred or feet behind this monument. There were tents, campfires and men in period clothing. As much as I would have enjoyed taking a closer look at this backwards glance into history the better angels of my nature told me that while I am enjoying this particular moment, I must respect their privacy and allow them to enjoy theirs as well.
The next stop was at Little Round Top and as we stood atop and gazed upon the ground which had been a pivotal point for the Union Army. The crest of this hill is comprised almost entirely of out of boulders. Very big ones.
By this point the grey clouds have appropriately given way to blue skies. There is a refreshing and welcoming wind here which helps keep the heat and humidity at bay.
From here we can see the Devil’s Den, another place of fierce battle. We immediately notice a change. All the trees which once adorned it are now gone. This comes as sad news to us. From our vantage point we can also see hoards of people surrounding this sight. We quickly resolve to leave the Devil’s Den to another day.
There was one obligatory stop left to make, and this was at the High Water Mark which was in short the end of the line for the Confederate Army. Today, I will only take a few moments at the stone wall, to overlook the ground which comprised Pickett’s Charge, by far the most serious and final battle which gave the Union Army a decisive victory over the Confederates.
Before I take my leave from these grounds, I pause at the sight where General Armistead fell.
I always do.
My agenda for tomorrow is to take a walk downtown. This is always such a joy to me for several different reasons. First, the architecture of the colorful houses and shops that line the streets are such a pleasure to observe. Second, there is a yarn store downtown, and if I listen carefully, I can hear several skeins of exquisite wool clearly calling me by name.
And so ends day two.
Until tomorrow......
By the time we were ready to make a “go” or “no go” decision as to whether or not to set out for our first drive through Gettysburg National Park, the weather seemed give us a bit of a reprieve. And so, the decision was for a “go.”
I do not quite understand what it is that makes me want to experience this journey through Gettysburg National Park over and over again. What I can tell you is that this desire is a powerful one.
As we enter the park grounds we are met with the lush greenery which for some reason, I always sense as remarkable. Also, there are hundreds and hundreds of monuments in all sorts of imaginable shapes, size and colors. None of them are small however, and rightly so. Each one is dedicated to those who served and fought here.
By the time we stopped the car to get out and breath in the land, there were the odd raindrops to welcome us and we did not mind them a bit. Among the stops we made on this particular journey were the Tennessee Memorial and the Lee Monument.
It is indeed a very big stretch to the imagination when you try to imagine the utter carnage that took place here 147 years ago. There’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to. However, we are here to acknowledge what happened here.
Abraham Lincoln said it all to well...
"The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract."
Nothing can change what happened here. It is what it is. What overcomes my senses here is an overwhelming sense of peace. May it always be so.
As far as I know, one of the latest monuments to be added was the Longstreet Memorial. I believe this stature was made possible partly because of the efforts of actor Tom Berenger who played General Longstreet in the epic movie “Gettysburg.”
What came as a pleasant and unexpected surprise however was to see an encampment a hundred or feet behind this monument. There were tents, campfires and men in period clothing. As much as I would have enjoyed taking a closer look at this backwards glance into history the better angels of my nature told me that while I am enjoying this particular moment, I must respect their privacy and allow them to enjoy theirs as well.
The next stop was at Little Round Top and as we stood atop and gazed upon the ground which had been a pivotal point for the Union Army. The crest of this hill is comprised almost entirely of out of boulders. Very big ones.
By this point the grey clouds have appropriately given way to blue skies. There is a refreshing and welcoming wind here which helps keep the heat and humidity at bay.
From here we can see the Devil’s Den, another place of fierce battle. We immediately notice a change. All the trees which once adorned it are now gone. This comes as sad news to us. From our vantage point we can also see hoards of people surrounding this sight. We quickly resolve to leave the Devil’s Den to another day.
There was one obligatory stop left to make, and this was at the High Water Mark which was in short the end of the line for the Confederate Army. Today, I will only take a few moments at the stone wall, to overlook the ground which comprised Pickett’s Charge, by far the most serious and final battle which gave the Union Army a decisive victory over the Confederates.
Before I take my leave from these grounds, I pause at the sight where General Armistead fell.
I always do.
My agenda for tomorrow is to take a walk downtown. This is always such a joy to me for several different reasons. First, the architecture of the colorful houses and shops that line the streets are such a pleasure to observe. Second, there is a yarn store downtown, and if I listen carefully, I can hear several skeins of exquisite wool clearly calling me by name.
And so ends day two.
Until tomorrow......
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Gettysburg ~ Day One
At about 3:00 p.m., on June 5, 2010, I found Gettysburg Pennsylvania exactly where I had left it.
Now, I am here at the corner of Steinwehr & Baltimore, the same street that Abraham Lincoln took as he approached what is now the Gettysburg National Cemetery. The Irish Brigade shop stands in front of me as do all the other little touristy shops. Downtown Gettysburg lies straight ahead about half a mile. Behind me is Cemetery Hill and the two cemeteries, Evergreen, which is private and the National Cemetery.
It is almost impossible to ignore the sound of the continual traffic. Occasionally, the traffic lights bring the steady stream of cars to a stop. The cars comply, but for a few moments only. That is when, if you listen carefully, you can hear the intermittent sounds of birds chirping in the distance.
I listen, and they tell me that all is well.
As I look up and down the streets I see tourists, but certainly not as many as I usually do when I compare them with sunny Saturday afternoons in June from years gone by.
Yet another unfortunate sign of the hard times that we are living in.
After a few minutes walk, I find myself at my second favorite bench in Gettysburg.
It sits adjacent to the Jenny Wade House. The significance of this house is that during those awful days of battle during July 1863, only one single civilian was tragically killed and that was Jenny Wade.
The story goes that Jenny was baking bread in the kitchen when a sniper’s bullet pierced the side door hitting Jenny in the back and killing her instantly.
Sitting down on the bench, I survey the gardens which I have not seen for three years. The flowers are still as lovely as I remember them. The decorative trees have of course, grown larger and this is the only noticeable change that I can see here.
The Jenny Wade house itself looks well taken care of which pleases me. The white sheers still hang in all the windows.
I can easily discern that the ghosts behind those sheers are still intent on ignoring me just as they always do. This is in spite of all my brash attempts at daring them to show themselves. It’s just as well. They know where my room is, and will no doubt be paying me a visit sometime during my stay, but on their terms of course.
As alway, there are the tourists which amuse me as they walk by the Jenny Wade house. You know, the ones who try to see Gettysburg in two hours or less. I cannot help but sense that they see this house more as a tourist trap, an oddity, rather than for the treasure that it really is.
All of a sudden, there is a very pleasant breeze, which invites me to stay in this place a little while longer. It breathes an invitation asking for me to stay just a little bit longer. It whispers “See, it isn’t so hot here after all now, is it.”
Within a few minutes comes the familiar roar of the Harley Bikes going by which was inevitable. Gettysburg is, after all a Harley town.
Dinner tonight takes place at O’Rorkes, named after an Irish commander who was killed during the assault on the Round Tops. It’s an Irish Pub well known in this area for good food and good times. The most memorable song of the night is “I Get Knocked Down” by Chumba Wumba.
And so ends day one, and pleasantly so.
The agenda for tomorrow is dependent on the weather gods and believe me it’s all good. Some of my best photos of Gettysburg were taken in both rain and snow. It’s really amazing how the atmosphere changes with the seasons.
However, the sun seems to set all to early around here. It’s almost as if someone or something is telling us that....
... tomorrow is another day.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Now, I am here at the corner of Steinwehr & Baltimore, the same street that Abraham Lincoln took as he approached what is now the Gettysburg National Cemetery. The Irish Brigade shop stands in front of me as do all the other little touristy shops. Downtown Gettysburg lies straight ahead about half a mile. Behind me is Cemetery Hill and the two cemeteries, Evergreen, which is private and the National Cemetery.
It is almost impossible to ignore the sound of the continual traffic. Occasionally, the traffic lights bring the steady stream of cars to a stop. The cars comply, but for a few moments only. That is when, if you listen carefully, you can hear the intermittent sounds of birds chirping in the distance.
I listen, and they tell me that all is well.
As I look up and down the streets I see tourists, but certainly not as many as I usually do when I compare them with sunny Saturday afternoons in June from years gone by.
Yet another unfortunate sign of the hard times that we are living in.
After a few minutes walk, I find myself at my second favorite bench in Gettysburg.
It sits adjacent to the Jenny Wade House. The significance of this house is that during those awful days of battle during July 1863, only one single civilian was tragically killed and that was Jenny Wade.
The story goes that Jenny was baking bread in the kitchen when a sniper’s bullet pierced the side door hitting Jenny in the back and killing her instantly.
Sitting down on the bench, I survey the gardens which I have not seen for three years. The flowers are still as lovely as I remember them. The decorative trees have of course, grown larger and this is the only noticeable change that I can see here.
The Jenny Wade house itself looks well taken care of which pleases me. The white sheers still hang in all the windows.
I can easily discern that the ghosts behind those sheers are still intent on ignoring me just as they always do. This is in spite of all my brash attempts at daring them to show themselves. It’s just as well. They know where my room is, and will no doubt be paying me a visit sometime during my stay, but on their terms of course.
As alway, there are the tourists which amuse me as they walk by the Jenny Wade house. You know, the ones who try to see Gettysburg in two hours or less. I cannot help but sense that they see this house more as a tourist trap, an oddity, rather than for the treasure that it really is.
All of a sudden, there is a very pleasant breeze, which invites me to stay in this place a little while longer. It breathes an invitation asking for me to stay just a little bit longer. It whispers “See, it isn’t so hot here after all now, is it.”
Within a few minutes comes the familiar roar of the Harley Bikes going by which was inevitable. Gettysburg is, after all a Harley town.
Dinner tonight takes place at O’Rorkes, named after an Irish commander who was killed during the assault on the Round Tops. It’s an Irish Pub well known in this area for good food and good times. The most memorable song of the night is “I Get Knocked Down” by Chumba Wumba.
And so ends day one, and pleasantly so.
The agenda for tomorrow is dependent on the weather gods and believe me it’s all good. Some of my best photos of Gettysburg were taken in both rain and snow. It’s really amazing how the atmosphere changes with the seasons.
However, the sun seems to set all to early around here. It’s almost as if someone or something is telling us that....
... tomorrow is another day.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Friday, June 4, 2010
Things My Dad Taught Me ~ Part 1
Upon losing my father, I wanted to commit myself to making sense of all the lessons that he had tried to teach me in life.
There has been an unfortunate problem however.
It’s taking me years to remember what some of these lessons were.
And that isn’t all. I also want to know how I can apply these lessons to my own life. Then hopefully, I will be reconcile the fact that dad had indeed been a pretty good father after all.
Now, five years later, slowly, very slowly these lessons are beginning to become clearer to me.
Take today for example. I’m far from home on holiday. And as I pack a newly purchased book into my bag, one of those lessons came crashing home.
The scene was the beginning of new year of school for me, primary to be exact. I had just been assigned several new school books which included an elementary reader, math, and geography book.
He led me to the kitchen table where my newly acquired text books were waiting. He had a pencil, scissors, and ruler in one hand and a large piece of heavy paper in the other. His preferred choice of paper media was usually a recycled piece of wrapping paper, an irrelevant street map, or an old poster. However, I do remember times when a newspaper, or the funny papers would do in a pinch.
With that, he would sit me down, and with pencil, ruler and patience he began to measure and mark. With several long straight lines here and a couple of notches there he would then take the scissors and carefully cut along the pencil drawn edges. He finished off with two neat folds here, another two folds there, and
...VOILA! We now had a bookcover.
My father would then take the front cover of the school book and slip it into into the neatly measured front flap. Then he would do the same with the back cover.
In teaching me the importance of these homemade book-covers, I learned several different things.
First, it taught me that books are to be handled with both care and respect. I still have books that dad gave me. The ones with these sorts of covers are still in their prime. The other books are not so lucky.
Secondly, it is indeed a noble thing to take care of something that does not belong to you. I was always proud to give all borrowed books back to the school at the end of the year, intact and with few blemishes.
Last, I learned that you can take something which is otherwise considered useless and unwanted and turn it into something with the potential to be both useful and meaningful.
And there you have it. It only took me years to figure this particular lesson out, but I finally got it.
Thanks dad!
There has been an unfortunate problem however.
It’s taking me years to remember what some of these lessons were.
And that isn’t all. I also want to know how I can apply these lessons to my own life. Then hopefully, I will be reconcile the fact that dad had indeed been a pretty good father after all.
Now, five years later, slowly, very slowly these lessons are beginning to become clearer to me.
Take today for example. I’m far from home on holiday. And as I pack a newly purchased book into my bag, one of those lessons came crashing home.
The scene was the beginning of new year of school for me, primary to be exact. I had just been assigned several new school books which included an elementary reader, math, and geography book.
He led me to the kitchen table where my newly acquired text books were waiting. He had a pencil, scissors, and ruler in one hand and a large piece of heavy paper in the other. His preferred choice of paper media was usually a recycled piece of wrapping paper, an irrelevant street map, or an old poster. However, I do remember times when a newspaper, or the funny papers would do in a pinch.
With that, he would sit me down, and with pencil, ruler and patience he began to measure and mark. With several long straight lines here and a couple of notches there he would then take the scissors and carefully cut along the pencil drawn edges. He finished off with two neat folds here, another two folds there, and
...VOILA! We now had a bookcover.
My father would then take the front cover of the school book and slip it into into the neatly measured front flap. Then he would do the same with the back cover.
In teaching me the importance of these homemade book-covers, I learned several different things.
First, it taught me that books are to be handled with both care and respect. I still have books that dad gave me. The ones with these sorts of covers are still in their prime. The other books are not so lucky.
Secondly, it is indeed a noble thing to take care of something that does not belong to you. I was always proud to give all borrowed books back to the school at the end of the year, intact and with few blemishes.
Last, I learned that you can take something which is otherwise considered useless and unwanted and turn it into something with the potential to be both useful and meaningful.
And there you have it. It only took me years to figure this particular lesson out, but I finally got it.
Thanks dad!
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