We went to Gettysburg while we were away. I've never been there before. I never thought I'd get to go. (I'm saying that in reverent tones because I've always wanted to go, but it's far away.)
It's such a beautiful place, so remembering what went on there in those lovely rolling hills and green fields can be difficult, especially when there are children leaping from the signs that warn parents to keep their children from leaping on the rocks (clliffs, for pity's sake!), and buses are gathering their wayward passengers, and skateboarders are zipping up and down the roads between battle sites.
Yet, beneath the noise and the chaos and the semi-revels, remains the inexorable truth. On that ground, the men of this country, north and south, struggled for our nation. There'd be no parties to preserve (that annoys me--I'm just going to commit the blog unforgivable, and say--preserve the union again--not the party--whatever it may be) without the fight that happened there.
It was odd being the one southern voice I heard, and I don't sound very southern. My ancestors fought on both sides of the war. In fact, my mother's family marched with Sherman through Georgia and South Carolina and burned out my father's family. That should make me confused, but no.
I'm glad the right side won. I just can't believe that anyone needed a war to see the right side. And I'm grateful to those men who fought and saved our union.
I love the south. This red, hard ground, these birds and crickets and the frogs that sing at night, the magnolias that glint in their green leaf armor, even this stinking heat that sucks my soul out daily, is a part of me. But I am so grateful to those union soldiers who fought and died and turned the tide at Gettysburg.
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