Friday, August 30, 2013

So you want to secede? Go to Gettysburg.


The Alabama cemetery where much of my Southern
heritage can be found.
A Southerner I am, from a long line of 'em.  In fact, we called ourselves Rebels, and my family would jokingly? refer to our neighbors to the north as Yankees--on the side that lost the war.  Even as I argued with my Yankee friends in elementary school that we had won the Civil War, I never knew how or why.  I merely behaved as a child without critical thinking skills, believing that my parents' teachings were correct and factually based, parroting them without reason.  (I do not know if my parents actually believed that the South won; perhaps they simply wanted me to feel like a winner!) 

Once I reached my teenage years, I began to occasionally have my own thoughts and opinions about various topics that ran contrary to those of my parents.  My mother would hurl her best insult:  "You are talking like a Yankee," she would say.  I don't think her response had the effect she wished, because as I reconsidered my "Yankee" opinions, weighing the facts and ethics involved, I began to consider that she may occasionally be wrong.  And if she was wrong on this…or that…maybe she was wrong about the war.

As a high school student, I finally learned the truth about the war's purpose and outcome and was troubled that my Christian American ancestors believed in the enslavement of others.  I wondered how one could believe in the love of Jesus, proclaim that "all men are created equal," and then support slavery.  Yes, it is true that the Bible actually supports slavery, but I was not yet prepared to complete a thorough analysis of the religion in which I was raised.  I responded to the inequity with the age-old, child-like responses:  "We can't understand God," or "It was a different time."  

At the recommendation of a friend, I circled Gettysburg on my
map as a "must see" location.  And while lounging around in Perryopolis, I watched documentaries and movies, read articles, and researched various aspects of the Battle of Gettysburg because I wanted to be knowledgeable as I toured the area.  However, I was ill prepared for what I was about to experience.

I traveled to Gettysburg via the Lincoln Highway, "the first transcontinental improved highway for automobile across the United States of America," otherwise known as US Route 30 in Pennsylvania.  It was an exhilarating drive through mountains and clouds; at times, I was overcome with awe, articulating my joy aloud with profound exclamations, such as, "Oh, man!  Oh, man!  Oh, man!"  (Yes, my high-level vocabulary is, at times, extraordinary.)

As I made the turn onto Seminary Ridge, my exhilaration and joy evaporated.  Confronted by the sight of cannons, monuments, and battlefields, I was beside myself with sadness and began to cry. Hours upon hours of internet research had suddenly become real; I was driving on land where Americans had pitted themselves against one another--brother versus brother, father versus son, friend versus friend.  My Rebel heritage had come here to fight for "states' rights" to engage in the hideous act of subjugating others. 






All around me, memorials had been erected to honor the soldiers who had sacrificed themselves in this battle.  The sheer number is overwhelming; despite my best attempts, I could not pause at each one--not only because my time was limited, but because my heart was aching and my brain was unable to make sense of it all. 



After spending my first evening poring through the various tours offered of the Battle Fields, I opted for the National Park Service Museum and Visitor Center.  For less than $40, I was able to see the film, A New Birth of Freedom; view the Gettysburg Cyclorama program; take a two-hour, air conditioned, guided bus tour; and explore the museum.  Surrounded by people, I was alone in my head, thoughts swirling, tears falling; confusion reigned.  

And then a thought occurred to me:  I am overwhelmed with war by simply viewing battlefields of long ago; how, then, do citizens and soldiers handle war in present time?  What kind of mental gymnastics does it take to survive life in a battlefield?  

I needed a drink.

So after downing a bottle of water...

I headed to the Spring House Tavern, located in the basement of the Dobbin House,--built in 1776--"where candlelit elegance, superior food in abundance, and gracious service bring back the sights, sounds, and tastes of two centuries ago."




I indulged myself with the RUM BELLIES VENGEANCE...the drink of the Dobbin House!  An absolutely incredible concoction of the light & dark rums, exotic liqueurs, & fruit juices, the potency of which mandates a limit of two (2) per customer.  Truly, a genuine bargain.  

Spirits lifted, I enjoyed the Spit Roasted Chicken, tender, fresh bird skewered to a spit and turned continuously in front of a clear brisk fire until it has a delicate brown and crisp outside, and is moist and tender inside. 

I could now sleep peacefully.

The next morning, I ventured to my final stop in Gettysburg:  The Gettysburg NationalCemetery.


Again, sadness.  I walked by grave after grave after grave.


Try as I might, I cannot wrap my head around war, although, in this case, as devastating as it was for our country, I find myself glad that we had Americans who stood on the side of "liberty…for all," remembering that "all men are created equal."

Americans speak of freedom, liberty, and equality, and it seems that we must continue to fight for it.  As for states' rights?  I read in the news everyday of state governments taking away the rights of Americans--whether it be voting rights, marriage rights, or reproductive rights.  I even read of some people in certain states who threaten to secede from our Union because they don't always get their own way.  I say to them, "Go to Gettysburg." 

Yes, I am a Southerner, but today I am tripping…

Yankee Julie 

3 comments:

  1. Nice. Loved the pic of Little Round Top. My family was on the right side of the war. Always had been, it seems. But yes, I 'growed up' down yonder, so simply accepted the south being what it was. Then I moved to Boston, during the bussing riots, and suddenly the hatred and anger that surrounded me for so much of my life became real. It made no rational sense to think and act this way. Anyway, yes, Gettysburg overwhelmed me too. I feel it calling to me, so I hope to return for a more thorough visit. Thank you for the words, very nice. -Oz

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    1. Thank you, Oz. Nearly two years later, you make my heart sing.

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