Reminded me of all those "special" days when I was a serious Civil War re-enactor, of waking up before dawn after sleeping on the hard ground at Wilson's Creek, Mo., or Murfreesboro, Tenn., or Prairie Grove, Ark. ”” the air cool and a bit foggy, a peckerwood tapping off in the distance, and the Yankee cavalry horses rustling through the tree line, riders popping off pistol rounds here and there, skirmishing and seeing if the Confederate camp was awake.
No cars, no planes, no iPhones ... only the fleeting moment where you felt you had gone back in history. You roust your middle son to grab his drum and beat to assembly. Your belly was growling and you needed coffee, but you had to grab your Enfield, but on your brown wool-jean shell jacket and slouch hat and strap on your leather accoutrements and haversacks and roust the still-sleepy laggards into formation. Breakfast was a cold, hard biscuit or hardtack cracker and a swig of canteen water left from the day before, the smell of burnt hickory wafting through the air adding more to the foggy haze ”” leftovers of previous night campfires. Soon enough, thousands of Rebel muskets would be adding to the smoke and noise to break the absolute stillness of the morning, with volley fire at the Yanks.
Fondest memories ....
