Michael J. Roueche's Blog, page 17

"Beyond the Wood" Sequel takes me to Kentucky's Camp Nelson

As I mentioned in a recent blog, we recently visited Kentucky's Camp Nelson, the third largest African-American recruiting center during the Civil War.

View from one of the Forts at Camp Nelson

Significant portions of the original camp are now a Jessamine County park. Researching for the sequel to Beyond the Wood, I was retracing the steps of the 5th United States Colored Cavalary (5th USCC), and began the trail at the camp (just outside of Lexington), where the 5th was recruited and trained. We then followed the 5th to nearby Kingsport, Tenn, where the 5th passed on their way to their second battle at Saltville, Va, and then we were off to Saltville itself, where we were entertained by a great overview of the First Battle of Salville by a man trimming grass at a hillside church overlooking the battlefield.

Camp Nelson was a product of the Civil War, created in 1863 and quickly dismantled after the war. But in that short time, the camp played a significant role in recruiting and training African Americans in this important border state. It also became a safe haven (after a significant glitch) for the families of African American soldiers and other African American refugees.

Inside of Refugee Cabin at Camp Nelson: Not everyone had it so nice.

The numbers of refugees increased rapidly as formal arrangements were made for them, increasing from about 400 refugees in November 1864 to more than 3,000 in 1865. The camp was originally designed as a supply camp, but I expect it would have been long forgotten if not for its role in freeing African Americans.

The fortress covered more than 6 square miles, with three sides protected by river-side cliffs of the Kentucky River and Hickman Creek and fortifications covering the exposed northern end of the camp.

The camp was a significant operation, with barracks, housing

Barracks at Camp Nelson

for refugees—monickered "Home for Colored Refugees," a bakery that churned out 10,000 loaves a day, a 700-bed hospital, a school involving the American Missionary Association, and a soldiers home established by the US Sanitation Commission. Surrounded by the rivers, water was never a problem, but had to be pumped from the rivers below.

For me the park was a surprisingly good experience. Jessamine County has obviously put extensive resources into the historical park, with paths, remains of fortifications, a sample barracks, an excellent visitors center with camp-life experience displays and an on-site archeologist piecing together life as it was at the camp. The day we were there was cool and rainy, so the few paths we took revealed more about my rapidly leaking gore-tex boots than the camp itself, but the weather also kept the park's archeologist Dr. Stephen McBride inside and gave us the opportunity to get his insights on Camp Nelson soldier and civilian daily lives. He's coauthored a report on the Camp Nelson experiences of former slaves, entitled Seizing Freedom: Archaeology of Escaped Slave at Camp Nelson, Kentucky.

The fort suffered no significant attack, so it may not fit the usual definition of hallowed ground, but its role in first-freedom experience of thousands of Americans makes it hallowed in another way. And with it's role in the creation of the 5th, Camp Nelson will probably appear in the yet-to-be named sequel to "Beyond the Wood."

Forgetting May be the Best Way to Remember

Last week I visited several Civil War Sites in Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia—my virtually native state, tracking some of the movements of the 5th United States Colored Cavalry (5th USCC). Among the sites I visited were Kentucky's Camp Nelson, now an impressive county park outside of Lexington and well worth visiting, and Saltville, Va, where the 5th twice saw battle and where there's not much today to remind a visitor of the Civil War. While most of the sites were interesting to us, I was discouraged because at several slavery was excluded as a cause of the war and I could hear echoes of The Lost Cause reverberating across the hills and mountains around us right into the words of our guides. States rights was the cause it was proclaimed, and in one case I learned it was a long-term Northern conspiracy to keep the South from developing industry (which the South desperately wanted to do)–perhaps I hadn't been paying attention, but that was a new one for me. It all reminded me mildly of the bestseller from last century Confederates in the Attic: Dispatches from the Unfinished Civil War.

I then woke up this morning to a tweet from Kevin Levine that directed me to a Bloomberg article, "Virginia as Biggest Slaveholder Still Sees Civil War Divisively."

The visits already had me thinking about what can be done to overcome the dichotomy in our thinking about the Civil War. It's been 150 years, and still the disparity continues and apparently flourishes. I have come to the conclusion that seeing the causes of the "Civil War divisively" will never end.  Scholars, reenactors, hobbyist, history buffs, Northerners, Southerners, Mississippians, Virginians, Pennsylvanians: everyone approaches it from a different perspective.

It reminds me of an everyday disagreement in marriage. If a couple caught up in an argument continues to contest who was right and who was wrong or argues what and who caused the fight, they never move on, and like a hurricane they swirl and swirl about until anything good and valuable in their relationship is destroyed. On the other hand, when they recognize and act on the fact that their relationship is far more important than the argument and consciously chose to forget or ignore what caused the argument in the first place, they are ready to grow closer together.

So, what would happen if we took that approach to the Civil War–agree that we ended up in a greater place than we began, and leave causes alone. Even as I write this, of course, something tugs at me that says don't do it—you're perspective is right. But that is the challenge: Everyone thinks their perspective on causes is the right one. Letting go of who's right and who's wrong, whose argument is historical and whose rewrites history, even when we have strong feelings, is the challenge and addresses the fundamental problem. A week ago, I wouldn't have written this because it's a hard principle and because no one (meaning me and my perspective) wins. And no one winning is its greatest virtue—although I don't suppose it sells books like controversy.

It's no longer who's right and who's wrong. Instead, we celebrate what we believe in common: it was a tragedy; it changed the nation in crucial ways, yet with some unfortunate byproducts; it ended slavery to the benefit of all; it allowed the building of one unified nation capable of saving the world in the 20th century.

Trying to forget all the reasons thrown up as causes for the war may be the best way to remember the war and help us continue as a bulwark of freedom for this century. And don't worry, if you're concerned this approach won't leave anything to discuss, we still are looking for that perfect balance between states and Federal rights. And that ought to keep us busy for a least another 150 years.

A treacherous, Circuitous River

If anything, American history reminds us that patriotism (and even loyalty) is no simple, clear-cut proclamation, and a republic is, with so many voices, a treacherous, circuitous river.

As a child raised years ago in Virginia, I was overwhelmed by the mountainous shadow of heroic country founders. I wished I had lived in their time because it was so easy to see what one should do—rebel against a corrupt monarchy, of course. I couldn't imagine any colonist as less than completely committed to the cause and perfectly virtuous, selfless.

Ah, life was simple then. Only later did I find out much to my personal discomfort that not everyone in the colonies would have agreed with my assessment. Unimaginable to me before that discovery were the multitudes of colonists who supported British King and law, or worse, multitudes of colonists who just didn't really care either way. Unimaginable to me before was the possibility that some words or acts of rebelling colonists were not simply righteous reaction to tyranny (think Samuel Adams and the Boston massacre).

It wasn't nearly as clear cut as I had imagined, because outcome is not visible from the beginning to us mere mortals–even though we think we see the future clearly. And, maybe that's part of the problem. Each of millions of voices chime in for what they see in the future–but they are different imagined futures. It all comes together to make a republic a perilous place to reside.

Several Civil War-era quotes illustrate for me the slow, circuitous river and highlight how only with Providence actively involved did abolition of slavery and Union thread together to create a far better world . . . created from a confusing and confused patriotism and a treacherous, circuitous river.

In retrospect, it should have been easy: free the slaves, save the Union. Why even at the time the premier leader of each side (both claiming patriotism and loyalty) could have landed on that solution:

Robert E. Lee said to Episcopal Bishop Richard Hooker Wilmer, "The future is in the hands of Providence. If the slaves of the South were mine, I would surrender them all without a struggle to avert the war."(1)

Abraham Lincoln said in a letter to Horace Greeley: "I would save the Union . . . My paramount object in this struggle is to save the Union, and is not either to save or to destroy slavery. If I could save the Union without freeing any slave I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves I would do it; and if I could save it by freeing some and leaving others alone I would also do that." Those words were written to soften up the country for eventual emancipation.(2)

But it was a republic, and millions of voices were heard, clamoring for different visions of what they saw in the future. And war came, and the Union was troubled and emancipation began to peak tentatively from its hiding place, all under the guiding hand of Providence.

Speaking of manumission, Lincoln later said, "It is my earnest desire to know the will of Providence in this matter. And if I can learn what it is I will do it!" He later said that he "made a vow, a covenant, that if God gave us the victory in the approaching battle (Antietam), he would consider it an indication of Divine will, and that it was his duty to move forward in the cause of emancipation."(3)

Republics are treacherous, circuitous rivers, and it took us four years, more than 600,000 dead, many more wounded, lives ruined to save the Union and free the slaves–all so we could have what to us now in the future is obvious. We got there. But it was slow and circuitous, and, in the end, only the hand of Providence got us there, and he did it in a way that the nation will never forget.

It all makes you wonder about our ability to  "nation build" around the world, but much more importantly it makes you pray that we still have the hand of Providence guiding us.

 

 

1) p. 42. Ashes of Glory: Richmond at War by Ernest B. Furgurson

2) p 471 Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin. The letter ends with Lincoln's person opinion: "I have here stated my purpose according to my view of official duty; and I intend no modification of my oft-expressed personal wish that all men every where could be free."

3) p. 374. Lincoln by David Herbert Donald

Waiting . . . again.

Irene got in the way this past weekend, disappointingly postponing the dedication of the monument on the National Mall to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

But there must be a silver lining, and perhaps one benefit is that her visit lengthens out the celebration and conversation about the monument, the man and the work that we must all be in the thick of.

We, the nation, promised universal freedom nearly 150 years ago, but later and indirectly postponed it for the convenience of those, who in profound self-deception and mocking and hypocritical freedom, never wanted to grant it to all men in the first place. It had been implied that men and women paradoxically born or sold into the institution of American slavery were by their creator born and made free, yet for centuries they suffered without the protection and rights inherently theirs by divine heritage and decree. President Lincoln spoke of "four score and seven years ago," Dr. King added  "five score years ago," and now its been two score and eight years more, and all Americans nominally have legal freedom, but we are still quick to categorize ourselves into groups, excluding all who are not like us in some falsely perceived "important" way—race, economic status, educational attainment, sports team supported, school attended, type of clothes worn, religion.

Our great challenge today is beyond mere legal equality: It is, in spite of our physical sight, to see beyond the visible world: We can no longer see men and women for their exterior complexion, their wealth or lack of it, their education or lack of it, their beauty or lack of it, their intelligence or lack of it. We must instead see each person as a member of the family of all mankind with a divine nature, each a child of a loving God who plays no favorites, and who will surely hold each of us responsible for our treatment of each of his children.

No favorites. Universal mercy. Universal kindness. They should do the trick, but it will probably take a few more score of years.

What Do You Want?

A bumper sticker on a Colorado-tagged car recently caught my attention. It's not a new sticker, based on a quick internet search, but as they say, it was new to me. It read:

Remember who you wanted to be

As you can see, there's no punctuation mark, leaving a gaggle of questions in my mind:

Was it a command with an implied period or exclamation point? Should I have stopped at that moment in the middle of the road until I had fully envisioned past dreams of life?

Or was there an implied question mark: Was it a rhetorical invitation to think back on who I envisioned as I gazed into the future in yesterday's mirrors? Another alternative was to take it as a simple yes/no question—which of course I could only have answered as "yes and no." I'll consider it here as a directive to remember who we wanted to be.

My internet search pulled up lots of blogs on the phrase, each mostly tried to recreate lists of what the writers wanted to do–professionally or experiences they wanted to have, etc. when they grew up. A few mentioned attributes they wanted to have. All in all, they were inspirational: sort of a recapturing the innocence of youth intermingled with craving a more simple life.

However, as I reflect on the blogs and the bumper sticker motto, I'm left with one question and one concern:

First, the concern: Why is it that a question about who we wanted to be mutates so often and quickly into what we wanted to do professionally. The culturally now-demanded charge that all good fathers and mothers must give particularly to their daughters: You can do whatever you want to do. You can be whatever you want to be—president, astronaut, etc. I suspect that in the end, it won't matter what we do for a living—a lawyer, a doctor, a famous personality, a firefighter, etc. The question we have to ask is never about what we do professionally or the fabulous (and necessarily unique) experiences we have. It will be more important what we did for others and who we were at our invisible-to-the-world core.

Now the question: Why is it that we accept as a given that a dream of who we wanted to be at age five, 10, 15, even 20 is inherently more valuable than and morally elevated above who we would want to be if we took stock today. We are, by nature and by our physical separation from others and other things, self-centered. At any age, it's difficult to see life without seeing ourselves at its center. But especially when we're young, it is a particularly daunting challenge to try to shift the center elsewhere—because we don't have the context of seeing and appreciating that there are other concerns greater than our own or greater than those in our immediate vicinity. If you had asked me when I was young who I wanted to be, I probably would have answered something about wanting to do good in the world, but it would have been through immature moral eyes that focused from the center of my universe—which was me. My answer would have come from a young boy or young man unconsciously apart from and innocently and naively ignorant of many parts of the community and world. And that separation from the world would have twisted self-perception, again innocently, into a personal feeling of world-class superiority in entitlement and capability.

It's nice to remember the dreams of who we wanted to be as a young people, but they were incomplete, and to return to them unaltered seems a perhaps silly exercise. Better to consider where we want to take our lives now that we have a bit more experience, a bit more compassion, and are hopefully a bit less self-centered.

I'm thinking of printing up a slew of bumper stickers that read:

Think who you want to be!

The slogan will call for a bit of contemplation—which is an important part of the charge, but it also will get us to better dreams and, hopefully, better realities. But the contemplation is only the beginning: This past week, I happened to glance at my highlighted copy of Dr. M. Scott Peck's remarkable book, The Road Less Traveled, and one underlined sentence caught my eye as perfectly describing the next step: "The life of wisdom must be a life of contemplation combined with action." We must work to make sure that who we are and become flows naturally and authentically from us in action.

He Died Again this Morning: and No One Noticed.

I recently listed my top 25 books about all things Civil War and included one on the list that I had just discovered, but hadn't yet finished. I read the last few pages of Reveille in Washington (by Margaret Leech) this morning and report it is still on the list and is now firmly entrenched among my favorites. It is an engaging book.

The last several chapters describe the Capital during the final days of the war, Lincoln's death, the fear felt in Washington and the Stanton-inspired Federal conspiracy that followed Lincoln's martyrdom—a conspiracy to catch and punish conspirators.

Leech captured and conveyed to me the commotion, fear, sorrow and confusion that followed the president's death. Reading about the end of Lincoln's life is always a sad, emotional process; especially when it's prefaced by all he did and all he suffered from at least the moment he approached Washington as president-elect. He sneaked into Washington unexpectedly early and virtually disguised. But by the end, Lincoln didn't seem overly concerned about his personal safety. He had that now-famous dream of his own demise and held a personal conviction that he would be assassinated, but it doesn't appear that he let concern for his death rule or distract him. His open ride through Richmond just after the Federals took the town and just days before his death is witness enough to his lack of (or control of) personal fear.

The book described him as old at 56, weighed down by sorrow and the stress of four years of unrelenting war. I always find it's almost a relief (if it's ever in good taste to admit) when he dies, after so much difficulty. He has given everything, worn himself prematurely old; doesn't he deserve a respite of peace. He certainly wouldn't have had peace had he stayed on the job trying to manage the radical Republicans in their triumph. But he was so skilled at accomplishing good among self-interested politicians that I'm always left wondering how much better it would have been if he had lingered to help us just a little longer. Cliched, yes, but true: he was the man for the hour. He grew to see the Divine hand in the war. I can't help but see and be grateful for the Divine hand placing him in unique circumstances that enabled him to be the president just when a divided and suffering country needed his perfectly suited singular capacities.

But I was saddened by something else as I finished the book. The physical book I was reading was an old, withdrawn circulating library copy. The only publication date I could find in it was 1941, and it had been in a university library for at least the last couple of decades. As I read the book, I imagined thousands of hands flipping voraciously page after page; hundreds of minds enthralled by it stories; a wide-variety of expressions on countless faces as readers discovered its treasures. The thick, luxurious-feeling, ragged-cut pages were browned with age; the back was nearly broken. Surely it had enriched many lives. But, apparently, not so.

As I approached the end of the book last night, I discovered several pages that had not been fully cut in the binding process—they were still attached to one another and could not be read until cut apart. How could this be? The obvious answer? No one ever read this copy. In my mind's eye, I can see it on the bookshelf surrounded by other books on similar topics, and many on the dissimilar. People approach, choosing other books or take no book at all and are simply passing on their way to some urgent appointment. An elevating treasure is left unclaimed.

Contemporary culture discourages us from elevating our lives (other than getting rich–if that is in any way life elevation). Current culture often encourages us to seek for the base in ourselves and others. With such a powerful force around us, how many uplifting treasures are there out there that we pass by without noticing because we're told not to look for or at them?

With such little time given to us in life, I'm convinced we'd find more happiness bucking the downward pressure of popular culture and spending our lives searching for the uplifting and the enlivening because . . . we'd find them.

Peace: Get Used to it.

Last month, several members of our family visited Chalk Creek Canyon, just southwest of Buena Vista, Colorado. The area's known for its 14,000-ft mountains, hot springs, white-water rafting and ghost towns. The early portions of the canyon's northern wall are a dramatic Kaolinite-white as they rise toward Mt. Princeton. While there is much big and dramatic to see in the canyon, it was something little and quiet that impressed me . . . and got me thinking:

Cascades on Chalk Creek

One point to visit in the canyon is the Cascades, where Chalk Creek waters vigorously tumble and dive over boulders and stone on their way to less steep terrain and eventually the Arkansas River, the Mississippi, the Gulf of Mexico. The Cascades were impressive this year, with higher volumes of water than usual, thanks to a wetter-than-normal winter at higher elevations, and they roared enthusiastically. But right along side of all the pummeling, rushing, exciting water, there was that gently undulating creek-side pool. A little water was coming in, but the rock that surrounded it, protected it from the hustling pace and mad dash of its watery fellows, and it was living peacefully under the trees.

Globalization and technology have created a never-ending day. We always knew, from our perspective, that the sun never stopped, it just kept moving across the face of the earth. It never has paused at the international date line to mark another day down. The sun doesn't care about day and doesn't know night. (I have heard that it does want to experience night, but whenever it tries to peak just above the horizon of the earth–just to get a quick peak of the dark, night is always gone. Reminds me of that 80s movie Ladyhawke.) Now, we are discovering what the sun always knew: time is not broken into increments of earth rotation, but is linear and continuous, ever hustling us forward. Technology now links us to the world constantly, both physically and digitally.

World competition brings a perceived greater need to work longer, rest less—no longer must we just keep up the Jones next door, but with the Chinese and the Koreans and the rest of the Asians and the Europeans and the Brazilians and, some day, the Africans. But of course, we can't just keep up; since we have been ahead since the end of World War II, we must stay ahead. We're ever in a panic: It's a zero-sum game! There's not enough to go around. We've got to get our share before anyone else. But take comfort in knowing that we have technology on our side: We can gossip with friends constantly; watch and worry about the Dow Jones incessantly; listen to "our" music continually; review our spreadsheets relentlessly, and read at any time day or night why we should hate or love the current president and track every hint of who might be the president we'll hate or love next. Most importantly, we'll voraciously consume news of the latest technology trends, so we can be the first to buy the newest gadget–so we can keep doing all of this and more. We no longer are limited to just morning to dusk, we can do it all whenever the sun is shining anywhere in the world. It's stressful just to write about it.

Quiet Pool by Cascades

Then I remember the Cascades, and that small, gently undulating pool at its side. Fresh water still coming in, but it doesn't wash away the essence of the pool. It stays there; small, refreshed, peaceful.

Unless we consciously and personally manage our interactions with the world around us, we will be caught up in the wash of gravity over the boulders and stone. We will hurl ourselves down with all the others toward some distant place we can't yet know of, and we won't ever know that we have another choice.

It all screams for placing rocks around us, like that little pool in Chalk Creek Canyon, to protect us from the cascades of the world, giving us time for the things that make us human and bring us happiness and peace. Time for thought, study, self-reflection, prayer, worship, family, friends, service and love. Each of us is left to answer for ourselves: What rocks can I put around my life, so fresh water comes in, but the essence of who I am is not washed away by an ever more rapidly running world? It's in taking control of our lives and filling them with that which matters most that we can find the lost luxury of peace? Peace has a bad rap right now: It's boring. Where's the stimulation in peace? Where's all the activity? Where are the results? We need results! But, if we put up wise protecting rocks around our lives, I think we'll find that even in today's world, peace is not boring; you just need to get used to it.

Twenty-five Favorite Civil War Books

I've decided to create a top 25 list of my favorite books that treat Civil War related topics. Considering that tens of thousands of books have been written about the Civil War, I confess I have read a relatively few of them.  But from my reading, here are those that

a) I enjoyed most, and/or

b) from which I learned the most or, that more importantly, changed my perspective, and/or

c) that had the most practical value to me as I researched for writing.

I would have been hard pressed to create an order based on preference, so they are instead listed alphabetically by author. And, thanks to all those authors who did the great work to give us these treasures.

1, 2 & 3) The three-volume centennial history of the Civil War by Bruce Catton is inspiring and as readable as any novel. Even their names resonate: Coming Fury. Terrible Swift Sword. Never Call Retreat. In the pages of these three books, I imbibed the Civil War with all its intoxicating impact.

4, 5 & 6) Bruce Catton's three-book history of the Army of the Potomac, comprised of Mr Lincoln's Army, Glory Road, and A Stillness at Appomattox is wonderful. In all his works, the war comes alive. Reading it, I imagined I saw for the first time those western men of the Iron Brigade with their unusual hats marching at Gainesville.

7) The Sable Arm: Black Troops in the Union Army, 1861-1865 by Dudley Taylor Cornish. Another classic, this one dating to the mid-1950s. It captures the difficulties African-Americans overcame to fight for freedom and the associated challenges politicians and generals faced and some of the enabling systems and efforts they developed as the door slowly opened to the enlistment of black men.

8 ) Lincoln by David Herbert Donald. It opened my eyes to Lincoln as masterful politician and a man with a incredible ability to learn.

9, 10, 11) Shelby Foote's three-volume The Civil War: A Narrative is an amazing effort and a fun read. It isn't necessarily documented history, but, if you're up to reading the 3,000 pages and you'll read other stuff, this is very worthwhile.

12) On many a Bloody Field: Four Years in the Iron Brigade by Alan D. Gaff. Included on the list because of my need to know the details of the 19th Indiana for creating Hank's life. And there are plenty of details. Still use it as a reference.

13) Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin. A wonderful book, giving fabulous insight into Lincoln, his courage and his marvelous ability to lead not only the nation but also the talented, strong-willed, ambitious, political men with whom he surrounded himself. Wonderful history and a pleasure to read.

14) Bull Whip Days, edited by James Mellon. This is a genre-representative book listed only because it was the first one I read. It recounts in the words (as recorded—altered?–by others) of former slaves their lives before, during and after the War. An extensive effort undertaken by the University of Maryland in its Freedman & Southern Society Project, founded by Ira Berlin, has published a bunch of books that capture snippets of similar and sometimes the same glimpses and stories of slavery. In case you want to read more, I just read an interesting account of Samuel Hall, a slave of 47 years, from an online collection, North American Slave Narratives, at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Thanks to @AFBurialGrndNPS for alerting me to the Samuel Hall story and UNC resource. Of course, you can't pass on reading Frederick Douglass' autobiography.

15) Reveille in Washington by Margaret Leech. Very new to the list, and I haven't yet finished it. That it shows up on the list before I've read the last page shows how much I like it. It's a wonderful read about the history of the District of Columbia during the Civil War. The book has been around since 1941. The latest edition, which I don't have, has an introduction by James McPherson. Because of the nature of the District, it is a mix of the national and local story of the war.

16) Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era by James McPherson. A great, one-volume history of our best effort to destroy the great democratic experiment.

17) For Cause & Comrades: Why Men Fought in the Civil War by James McPheson. A short book and a quick read. It cemented in my mind the motives of the heroic men of the mid-1800s.

18) Stonewall Jackson: The Man, The Soldier, the Legend by James Robertson. An enjoyable history of one of the war's most interesting, enigmatic, and, even in his time and around the world, most famous generals. A story mentioned in this book becomes a dialogue topic in "Beyond the Wood."

19, 20 & 21) The Shaara-authored (Michael and Jeffrey) trilogy: The Killer Angels—a gift from a friend and one of the books that ignited my interest in the Civil War. Michael Shaara wrote a great and influential book. After Mr. Shaara passed away, his son ably picked up the pen to create the remainder of a trilogy: A prequel in Gods and Generals and a sequel in The Final Full Measure.

22) Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. Can't leave off the list the book of whose author Lincoln reportedly said upon introduction to Stowe: "So this is the little lady who started this great war."

23) The Life of Johnny Reb: The Common Soldier of the Confederacy by Bell Irvin Wiley. An oldie but definitely worthwhile. Published in 1943, it celebrates the real life experience of the fighting soldier—not the generals and politicians–of the South.

24) The Life of Billie Yank: The Common Soldier of the Confederacy by Bell Irvin Wiley. It's the mirror image of its older brother "Johnny Reb." It, like its predecessor, broke new ground in Civil War history. As famed historian Bruce Catton, who I believe was a friend of the author, said, "Of all the books that have been written [on the Civil War] . . . the ones that will truly live are Bell Wiley's."

25) Lincoln at Getttysburg: The Words that Remade America by Garry Wills. A good friend gave this to me with high praise. He was right, and I pass on his recommendation without hesitation.

How does my list compare with yours? Let me know.

Human Race to Freedom: Awkward Beginnings

This morning I'm thinking about how it all began: Freedom. While the Declaration of Independence and Constitution created the environment where liberty was possible, the United States were politically held captive by slave owners and other beneficiaries of slavery and by the country's very allowance of the unmentionable, "our peculiar institution." In a real sense, no man could be or can truly be free until all men are free to make choices for themselves about their lives and to receive the consequences of those personal choices.

Today is the 150th anniversary of one of the early, clumsy and maybe not too effective early steps toward freedom for all men and women and thus for the salvation of the American Democratic experiment.

On August 6, 1861, Lincoln signed into law the first Confiscation Act, allowing the government to take property (including men, women and children held in slavery) used in rebellion against the government. It was among other things an effort to deal with slaves who ended up in Union hands as well as an attempt to deprive Southern States of resources they could use to further their Second Revolution. Passage of the act followed actions by Union General Benjamin Butler, who commanded strategically located Ft. Monroe in Virginia, and who had faced head on the challenge of crumbling slavery: Earlier that year, three slaves had escaped their masters and sought refuge in his fort. What was he to do with them? Confederates demanded they be returned to their masters in accordance with the odious-in-the-North, beloved-in-the-South fugitive slave law. The general declined to return them, and in doing so created a phrase that would stick around, calling the escaped slaves the "contraband of war."(1) He then put the not-exactly-freed slaves to work supporting the Union. Lincoln eventually endorsed his approach.

Of course neither the general, nor the president, nor Congress answered even basic questions: Were they still slaves? Who did they belong to? What were their rights? Did they now have any rights?

A couple of years ago, I wanted to move a significant boulder across my yard to a new location. I didn't think it could be rolled, and I knew we'd never be able to carry it. So, I asked a couple of great neighbors to help. I had real doubts as to whether my plan would work or even the details of the plan—other than move that stone across the yard. But, we went forward: We got an extension ladder, placed it by the boulder and pushed, pulled, shoved and rocked that stone onto one of the lower rungs of the ladder. We then pulled the ladder across the yard. It was a hard pull, but we succeeded. And when we had the ladder in place, we pushed, pulled, shoved and rocked the boulder off the ladder right into its permanent resting place.

Perhaps moving our boulder was a little like what Butler, Lincoln and Congress did. They didn't have the right tools, nor know exactly how it was going to work, and I don't suppose they understood exactly where they were going to end up: But to their credit, 150 years ago, they were pushing, pulling, shoving and rolling their far-more significant boulder. In the process, men and women held as slaves became contraband, with freedom, citizenship, equality tantalizingly close, but for a while yet, a long, hard pull beyond the visible horizon.

Happy Birthday, Confiscation Act of 1861. You may have been awkward, but at least your heart was in the right place.

 

(1) p. 355, Battle Cry of Freedom, The Civil War Era, James M McPherson, Ballantine Books, NY, 1988

Life at the Top

Four of us, including one visiting family member who'd never climbed a 14,000-foot moutain (14er), woke up at 4 am last Saturday to take on one of the busiest 14ers in Colorado: Mt. Quandary. Quandary is just south of Breckenridge and easy to get to. The weather looked like it would be good until at least noon and the hike short (7 miles round trip), so we started the hike luxuriously late at 7:40 am.

Wildlife is always something to look forward to on these hikes, and we saw the usual: Pika, Yellow Bellied Marmot. In the parking lot, as we were putting on our gear, we even witnessed the crueler and practical side of nature as a raven mercilessly and repeatedly attacked a mouse about 20 feet from us.

The highlight of the animals we saw during the day, however, were the mountain goats. Quandary is famous for its mountain goats, and early on you could see evidence of them as we climbed: bits of wool caught in bushes as we passed the tree line. It wasn't too long before we saw a few of the goats themselves near the trail (which was filled on this day with the entire madding crowd). By the end of the hike, we'd counted 15 of the animals, including four kids. I've included shaky video footage of some of them, just for fun.

Face to Face with a mountain goat

These Quandary mountain goats are accustomed to people. At times they nonchalantly crossed the people-filled trail as if we'd been all one specie. On the way down and after the bulk of the hikers had gone home, one mountain goat came over to take a good, long look at me, before being joined by her young kid. She only moved on when I turned to continue down the trail.

The specie is a Northern American native with a limited range from Colorado up to Alaska. Thus alternately called the Rocky Mountain goat, they are in the center of controversy about whether or not it was native to Colorado. But native or not, there weren't any in the state in the middle of the last century, and they were introduced or reintroduced to Colorado in 1947 for hunting purposes.

They are very interesting creatures: born, bred, living and dying on steep precipices, safe from many potential predators but one false step or rock slide away from quick death. What I find most interesting, however, is their size. They are huge, when you consider the availability of food at 11,000, 12,000 or even 13,000 feet. They can weight as much as 300 lbs., and they get there on grass, moss, lichen, sedges and shrubbery. It seems as you go higher on a mountain, the vegetation gets smaller and smaller. Grasses and wild flowers stand a foot-tall or more at lower elevations, but those at the top, can barely survive and are just inches high. Lichen on the rocks is so flat I don't think it even has a height. Yet, here these animals are, some with their football-player-like weight, surviving and thriving on the miniscule. Rocky Mountain goats are on a totally different size scale than everything else that lives continually at 12,000 feet. They just eat and eat and eat (continually) the little bits of food they have available (no big dinners, no big bites), just little bits eaten minute after minute, all day long, every day. It's the little things that make the mountain goat.

Of course, it's the same for women and men: It's the little things we do, think and say; the little things we let into our minds, homes and lives minute after minute, all day long, every day that determine our moral stature.