1776

It's not all Civil War around here.  This year we're studying American history and literature, and we're currently talking about the Revolutionary War.  We watched a movie of April Morning, adapted from one of my favorite books, which tells the story of the Battles of Lexington and Concord from a young boy's perspective.

The girls are reading biographies of Washington and Jefferson, and I'm reading David McCullough's 1776.  It's a great book, and I love this time period.  (Why doesn't anyone around here re-enact the Revolutionary War?!  My mortally wounded husband could crawl to me and die in my arms on our very doorstep - such drama!)

Do you know about the guns of Ticonderoga?  I guess I had forgotten this little bit of history, but it's very exciting:

In the early winter of 1775, twenty-five year-old Boston bookseller Henry Knox approached General George Washington with a bold proposal.  Washington's ragtag troops had Boston under siege, and they occupied high ground from which they could shell the British.  But the Americans needed big guns, and Henry Knox had an idea about where to get them.

In May 1775 when Ethan Allen's Green Mountain Boys forced the British to surrender Fort Ticonderoga, they had captured 59 pieces of artillery. Henry Knox proposed traveling 300 miles to Ticonderoga in the dead of winter to bring the artillery back to Boston.

Many of Washington's advisors thought the plan was hopeless. The guns would have to be dismantled and loaded onto barges, transported down Lake George before the great 30-mile-long lake froze, then hauled the rest of the way by sledge and oxen over rough trails. Knox would need good luck and better weather — warm days for crossing the lake; cold, snowy nights for the sleds.

He arrived at Ticonderoga and immediately set about disassembling the guns — 43 heavy brass and iron cannon, six cohorns, eight mortars, and two howitzers.  By December 9th, all 59 guns were loaded onto flat-bottomed boats and headed down Lake George.

Until that point, the weather had remained mild, but now the wind picked up and forced Knox's freezing men to row into an icy gale. With heroic effort, they succeeded in getting the last of the cannon to the southern end of the lake just as it began to freeze over.

Knox was ready to carry the guns overland, but he could not move.  A good base of snow was needed for the oxen to drag the heavy sleds. Finally, on Christmas morning, Knox awakened to several feet of fresh snow.

By January 5th, the artillery had reached Albany, but once again, nature did not cooperate. The ice on the Hudson was not deep enough to support the weight of the sleds. During each of the first two attempts at crossing, Knox saw a precious cannon lost to the river.

Six weeks later, however, on the night of March 4th, Washington's gun batteries in Cambridge distracted British troops while several thousand Americans quietly maneuvered the artillery up Dorchester Heights and frantically constructed emplacements. Logs painted to look like cannon made it seem as if they had even more firepower than they did.

The next morning an astonished British General Howe looked up at Dorchester Heights and remarked, "The rebels did more in one night than my whole army would have done in one month." Thanks largely to Henry Knox, the vaunted British Army had little chance of ending the siege of Boston. On March 17th, British troops and Tory sympathizers began the evacuation of Boston.
(adapted from: http://www.massmoments.org/moment.cfm?mid=29)

Isn't that a cool story?  Now I'm up to the part of the story where the British are about to attack New York.  Thrilling stuff.

PS.  Current song favorite: No Sugar Tonight, The Guess Who.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfqIl7OZj5g  I had this in my head the other night, got in the car, and it was playing on the radio.  Isn't it weird when that happens?

Autumn

Introducing Rebecca Walsh

It's taken me all week to find time to post about last weekend's Civil War pumpkin patch trip.  What a weekend!  It poured rain, it hailed, and I became an Irish girl from New York City.

There were about ten of us camping.  I liked the gentlemen of the Union very much, as I knew I would.

 This is Sgt Archie Napier.  You probably remember him from the South as Sgt Rufus Lawless.

This is Mike.  Sgt Napier told me a great story about Mike.  The two of them and another soldier were in a battle, and had been driven off apart from their unit (but very near the audience.)  The other soldier fell, and Sgt Napier turned to Mike and said, "Oh no, we're all that's left!"  Mike's eyes flew open in shocked surprise, he clutched at  Archie's sleeve, and dropped dead at his feet.  Such comic timing!  I liked Mike right away.

This is Donny.  He goes barefoot in the rain and is very like Brennan.  I can't wait to get the two of them together!

And this, on the left, is Brian.  He recited a long quote from Shakespeare's Henry V.  That makes him totally awesome in my book!

So these are the guys that made camping in the rain fun.  Here's what we had to deal with:

That's the hail right outside my tent.

This is Clarence washing dishes with the rainwater runoff from our tent fly.

Notice the water sheeting down the left side of the picture?  And all the hail on the ground?

This is the soldiers trying to save a fly that blew over, standing out in the rain while I take pictures from under shelter.

So why, you ask, was this fun?!  Well, besides the great humor and camaraderie of the fellows pictured above, I got to meet Rebecca.

Rebecca Walsh is my Yankee self.  In actual fact, Rebecca Susannah Walsh was my great-grandmother.  She came from County Galway, Ireland (to Australia, actually, since that's where my mom's family hails from.  Ooh, hails, get it?)

Rebecca kind of took over me, and with a wildly exaggerated Irish accent, I said whatever came into my head to the dozens of visitors we had at the pumpkin patch.  And here's where re-enacting gets really interesting.  It turns out Rebecca is different from Abigail, funnier and lighter-hearted.  She's got a bit of attitude.

I think it's absolutely fascinating to get in the skin of these two Civil War ladies, and to realize the differences between the two sides in the war.  As Abigail from Alabama, I feel under attack and fiercely defensive of my family.  As Rebecca from New York, I feel my family is making a noble sacrifice, but that somehow seems easier.  I had such a blast playing Rebecca!

Here are some more pictures from our weekend:

Soldier's row.

Sgt Napier swearing in a new recruit at the bayonet station.

The beautiful side effect of the storm.

Clarence.

The neighbors.

My Ellis Island look.

I put a heated pot lid under my feet to keep warm.

In spite of the weather, or maybe because of it, the farm scenery was stunning.

Back home, it took me several days to shed the Irish accent, much to my children's dismay.  But what fun!

Rebecca/Autumn

Ssshhhh!!!

Can you keep a secret?  Claire and I are sneaking off to play Yankees next weekend.  Yes, that's right, Yankees.  We'll be spending the weekend in a pumpkin patch in the rain with Yankees.  As Yankees.  Doesn't that sound like fun?

We can never get enough and Sgt Lawless invited us to join his Yankee friends.  (Sgt Lawless is a closet Yankee because he can never get enough either.  The Yankees probably think he's a closet Confederate.  Whatever.)

The thing is, I only know how to re-enact in a southern accent.  And I don't have a Union name.  I need another identity, because I guess two aren't enough!

Autumn/Abigail/?

Geology Field Trip

Last weekend, in the final hurrah of glorious sunshine, the families  from Brennan's geology class took a field trip to Mt. Baker.  Hailey took some great photos:

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

I read this quote recently from John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley: In Search of America.  (I’m not reading the book, unfortunately.  I was just looking for a different quote.)

“When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age.  In middle age I was assured greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. Four hoarse blasts of a ships's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping. The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib cage. In other words, once a bum always a bum. I fear this disease incurable.”
― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

I read the book years ago, and I liked it.  But I’ve been feeling very restless for awhile, and I found this quote a little depressing.  I thought perhaps I might eventually fade gracefully into a comfortable old age.  Apparently not.

Looking at the beautiful fall foliage outside gave me another thought about this.  If I’m in the “autumn” of my life, which I suppose, depressingly, I am, then that means two things.  On the one hand, it’s the gentle slope toward the end of life, a winding down.  But autumn leaves sure go out in a blaze of glory, don’t they?  Perhaps my restlessness is a search for my blaze of glory, and a sense of urgency about doing something while I still can.  But what?

This reminds me of a different quote, from a Dylan Thomas poem:

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Rage on.

Autumn

Musicfest

I'm having a little 21st century music-fest here.  Actually, 20th century, since my tastes aren't quite that modern.

Listening to:

Still Raining, Jonny Lang - love, love, love this one!  Plus Good Morning Little Schoolgirl, Lie to Me.

Bartholomew, and Poison, Silent Comedy

Black Velvet, Alanna Myles

Bruce Springsteen, lots

Bonnie Raitt, lots

Don't Stop Believing, Journey - Because Hailey played it on piano.

Radioactive, The Firm (remember that one?)

Don't You Forget About Me, Simple Minds - I was all in love to that song once.  But I did forget about him.

Back in Black, AC/DC - a holdover from our Macbeth movie project in April

Welcome to the Jungle, Guns N Roses - also from Macbeth

And a cool Macbeth rap from Flocabulary - "I'll rap death until my last breath."

Also some Civil War songs.  Blah, blah, blah.

Save me from the 80's!  What are you listening to?

Autumn

Fragile Magic

So I suppose you’re all wondering, (even those of you in Russia, Australia and Saudi Arabia, and the whole crowd in France – wow!) what our final thoughts on this project are.  Truth is, I’m still mulling it over.  On Tuesday, I’ll be dressing as Abigail again and speaking to a group on living history, and I’ve been trying to condense my thoughts into words.  I’m going to begin with a Rebel diatribe that will hopefully send them scurrying for their history books!

I have kind of mixed feelings about the project.

It was actually easier physically than I thought it would be, in some ways.  Initially, I was truly worried that we would starve to death.  The stove looked daunting and impossibly complicated.  I didn’t even know where the wood box was!  I thought the oven would never work and I couldn’t figure out what all the little doors were for.  I didn’t know how to stoke the fire or what type of wood to use or how to control the heat.  Turns out, not surprisingly, that the stove was a remarkably good design and not difficult to master.  I actually prefer the woodstove to my modern one!

Laundry, in retrospect, was easier than anticipated as well.  Although it's a lot of work, it feels strangely very satisfying to plunge your hands into a tub of soapy water and scrub like the dickens.

What was difficult, surprisingly to me, was the emotional challenge of the project.  I felt a little foolish sometimes, and lonely, especially during the first week.  Although Karl was very supportive and played along when he could, my children were, for the most part, less than enthusiastic about the whole idea.  I think it’s their age; being sixteen is awkward at the best of times, and downright humiliating when your mom actually goes out in public dressed like Little House on the Prairie.  I understand.  However, the kids actually rallied quite well during our busy visiting hours, and were really enthusiastic about showing other kids all that they had learned.

I really lived for seeing other re-enactors, because they understood, and were part of my 1800’s world.  If I do this again, it will have to be with other people who want to play along.

It is really difficult to actually leave the modern world.  I was disappointed at how often I had to drive my car, and I only rarely managed to leave the computer behind.  Some of my re-enactor friends are real sticklers about keeping farb out of our events, and I totally understand why.  Even small reminders of modern life break the delicate illusion of being in another century.  It’s such an ephemeral accomplishment, a fragile magic.

But occasionally, for a moment, you do step completely outside yourself and become someone else, and the reward is immense; it is no less than the ability to achieve time travel.  It comes only in glimpses, for fleeting moments, when for one precious second you really feel part of another world.  It comes when you are standing under a full moon in the middle of a soldier’s camp, with only canvas tents and glowing fires as far as the eye can see, and nothing but the sounds of  laughter and fiddle music.

It came for me in the grocery store, when suddenly my real world felt foreign.

It comes if you allow yourself, for a painful moment, to really feel you are at war.

This took me by surprise at our first re-enactment.  Karl and Claire marched out onto the battlefield for their first battle.  The Alabama firing line maneuvered into position.  My loved ones loaded their guns, and fired at the enemy, and charged, and retreated, and loaded and fired again, laughing all the while.  The cannons boomed and smoke poured over the field.  But when the smoke cleared, I couldn’t see my daughter.  I peered at the whole line-up and she wasn’t there.  Then I looked down on the grass, and there she was, dead.  Dead!  And next to her lay my husband.  My heart stopped, just for an instant.

It’s the weird paradox of Civil War re-enacting: That you are having the time of your life in what is supposed to be a really miserable setting.  But I think that to get the most out of the experience, you have to occasionally allow yourself to remember the real war, and the real people who died so tragically in it.

Something I didn’t realize when we began re-enacting, is how much acting is a part of it.  I had a couple of chances this summer to perform as Abigail.  In order to become Abigail, I realized that I have to figure out who she is, separate from Autumn.  I don’t actually know her very well yet, but I know she lives in constant terror of something happening to her family.  I also know that she’s probably more thoughtful and kind than I am, because caring for her family and friends is the only control she has in a  crazy, war-torn world.  Isn’t it weird that there’s this whole other person inside me?  That’s what living history is all about.

But it’s also about more practical matters.  In doing this project, I wanted my children to learn that life wasn’t, and isn’t, always as easy as the life they know.  I wanted them to learn that their work is valuable and necessary, something they don’t often get to feel in modern life.  I wanted them, like me, to step outside themselves a little bit.  And it worked, at least in part.  All of my kids had to haul water and start fires.  They learned to bake and churn and scrub laundry, and they took pride in their accomplishments, and they discovered that if they didn’t help, or weren’t diligent in their work, that dinner really didn’t get on the table on time.  I want to hold onto these lessons.  I realized that my children are capable of more than I’ve been asking them to do.  We’re raising the bar around here!

I also learned some lessons about the pace of modern life.  In the 1800’s, everything takes so incredibly long – dressing, cooking, washing dishes and clothes, even just getting a drink of water.  Wouldn’t you think then, that we’d have been busier than ever in September?  But somehow it didn’t feel that way.  Someone asked me what I missed the most from the 1800’s, and I answered, “peace.”  (Which is ironic actually, because I usually spend the 1800’s in the middle of a brutal war!)  I think the original idea about modern inventions was that they would give us more time, but they have done quite the opposite, haven’t they?  We race around from one activity to the next and feel more stress and pressure than anyone else in all of history.  We try to fit everything in because we think we can, or because we think others can and we ought to.

I thought the work of the 1800’s would feel more like drudgery than it did, and doubtless if we had kept it up for longer, until the novelty wore off, it would have felt that way.  But instead, our weeks felt ordered by the well-understood routine of the times.  If I really were a Victorian farm wife, all of my friends would have been washing or baking on the same days as me.  Maybe we would have gotten together to share some of the work, and certainly I would have seen more of them than just Sgt Newton on marketing day.

The work we did felt necessary and valuable, perhaps because it was more difficult to accomplish, and impossible to replace – no fast food in the 1800’s!  No water at the twist of a knob, or light at the flip of a switch.  (I still keep forgetting that I can turn the lights on.)  You have to haul water and split wood, and figure out how to keep it burning.  Having to work at home made our lives feel smaller, closer, and simpler.  Sometimes that made me feel lonely and restless, but often it simply felt peaceful.

For years I have struggled with the excessive abundance of the modern age.  I constantly feel overwhelmed by the amount of stuff in our house that needs to be put away or washed or fixed.  I loved having my house pared down to just essentials.  Here is a picture of my kitchen counter today.

Ugh.  (Mind you, we’re still in the process of cleaning up and moving back.)  I was pretty conscientious about keeping everything very tidy, like I figured Ma Ingalls would, but I can’t keep up with it now.  Not sure I can do anything about it, at least as long as the kids are home.

That’s the trouble with the modern age.  We are all trapped in the necessity of busy-ness and having many possessions, and it’s virtually impossible to swim against the current.  (I suppose I found a way, temporarily, but it meant leaving the century!)  Perhaps our changing economy will turn back the tide a bit.  I hope so.  I liked the tranquility of living in a simpler time.

So now we’re back, and modern life goes on.  I have a speaking engagement next week, and the Harvest Ball next month.  I'm also teaching my English class, and I want to figure out how to turn the Shakespeare movie we made last spring into a regular gig for money, and I have work for the church Board, and the homeschool teen group, and leading nature hikes, and I’m studying American history and literature alongside my kids this year, and somehow I have to fit our other homeschooling into all of that.  I feel a little sad and nostalgic about the end of the project, but honestly I’m too busy to really dwell on it.  And the other thing?  A re-enactor friend wants to put together an 1800’s house party for next year, so maybe we’ll do it again.  Wanna join us?

Autumn

Style Update

It’s a new century!

Silver forks are out; stainless steel is in.
Willow ware is out; huge, ugly, why-did-I-every-buy-these square plates are in.
Smooth buns are out; curly ponytails are in.
Hoops are out; jeans are in.
Meat is kinda out; vegis are in (except bacon.  Bacon will never go out of style!)
Lantern light, sadly, is out; electric is in.  (Once we found our livingroom lamps, that is!)
Movies and rock music are back in.  Can you imagine the noise around here?
My beautiful black cookstove is out.  It will return today to its spot in my kitchen, where it holds tea and bread, but I will never look at it the same way again.  I know what it can really do, and I hope to be re-united with it someday!
Washtubs are out; washing machines are in.  Now I suppose I’ll have to join the gym.
Ironing will never be in.
Tea is still in, and it’s so easy to get now!  No firewood.
Firewood is out; and if the weather drops a few more degrees, the clicker fireplace will be in.  Yes, we have a clicker fireplace.  Couldn’t be helped; it was the only option.  (But shhh!  It’s actually really fun and easy.  Click – fire!  I hate it when I like modern conveniences.)
Running water is still exciting to me.  Weird, huh?

I have something I need to clear up right now, since I’ve been asked several times:  Although we didn’t have showers in September, we did bathe.  Regularly.  Modern regularly.  We changed our undies too.  Ew.  Did you really have to ask?!  Sgt Newton actually sniffed me, and he said I smelled like baby powder.  So there.

More to come.

Autumn

Out with a Bang!

Alright, listen up.  I want you to know that Civil War re-enacting is absolutely the most fun you can have, ever.  Seriously.  Run right out and inquire with your nearest 19th century draft board.  You won't be sorry!

Here are some pics from our weekend.  Yes, I'm going to write a follow-up post about the whole September project, but for now I'm still coming down from our fabulous final event of the year.

Here's my dear hubby helping to chop wood.

Frederick's helping too.  He's gotten really good at splitting logs this month.

The hand-slap game during morning inspection - never seems to get old.

And the morning Hokey-Pokey.

Clarence and Sgt Rufus Lawless practicing bayonet drill.

Do you remember Sgt Josiah Henry Newton?  Looking most distinguished, eh what?

Do the Hustle...

Our Frederick fought with the boys of the Virginia Military Institute against a group of Yankee boys.

Our unit Capt J.D. Brock, with Sgt Newton.

A story: This is Pvt Sylvester Berry.  Pvt Berry turned out to be a Yankee turncoat, so we arrested him.

Gave him a brief trial, and decided with a Roman-style vote to execute him.

Clarence  volunteered with alacrity for the firing squad.  She loves that stuff.  Should I be worried?

Bang!  That's the end of Sylvester Berry.

Or so we thought!  On Sunday he revived and joined the Yanks, who were a bit short-handed.  I expect that's the last we'll see of Sylvester, but his brother William has joined up.

True story!  Sylvester Berry was Riley's actual great-great-something grandfather.

Sunday morning was so-o-o-o-o cold!!

We gave the Yankees a thorough trouncing at the Battle of Fredericksburg.  Do you know about the Battle of Fredericksburg?  From Wikipedia:

The Battle of Fredericksburg was fought December 11–15, 1862, in and around Fredericksburg, Virginia. The Union army's futile frontal attacks on December 13 against entrenched Confederate defenders on the heights behind the city is remembered as one of the most one-sided battles of the American Civil War, with Union casualties more than twice as heavy as those suffered by the Confederates.

Run Yankees!

Poor Yankees.

And this is my final picture in the 1800s...for now!

Abigail