To set the scene...I was standing there at the ironing board, not necessarily thinking of anything particular except for getting the wrinkle out of my shirt I'd just put in...when my brain drifted to a very minor, short conversation I had with a nice little lady at a recent event.

I had made some comment about not being able to move a particular way in my corset (which on later consideration, I wouldn't have done whatever it was even not in my corset because my back likes to go out of whack at particular angles and twists) and she pipes up along the lines of that's why she doesn't do a female impression. I was so tired I don't remember what, if anything, I said in response to that and let it slide...but it did get me thinking...

The stereotype that a corset is a strangulation device is hog-wash. It can be, sure...if you cinch it too tight like they like to do in the movies. I can run, dance, sing, play guitar, cook, sew, etc. while wearing mine without getting any extra-particularly out of breath. There is a minor degree of limited mobility--such as not being able to bend over as far at the waist as without one on, or even being able to twist the body around as far (but really, how often do we try to turn half-way around without moving our feet?) I bet you a girl could easily run a gun (cannon) in one of the things. I've fired blanks from a big-bore gun and a Gatling in mine. No hindrance. 

Anyway, the real point of this post is not to extol the virtues of the corset. It's to ask, "Why are so may girls so eager to get on the field, rather than to promote the stories of the women on the home front?" It certainly can't be any hotter in hoops and petticoats and corset and dress than it is in heavy pure-wool uniforms. So dears, nix that as your excuse. ;) 

I think it probably all boils down to the ingrained feministic teaching that even the Church propagates--women and men are equal. YES. We are--spiritual, morally (fallen), in the sight of Almighty God. However, equality of value does not add up to the same thing as equality of purpose or design. The Bible tells us distinctly that men are to be the heads of their households--defenders, protectors, etc. Women are to be the helpmeets to their husbands--keepers of the home (which ain't a job for the weak of spirit). This, when sought after by men and women striving to love God and men as taught in the Scripture, is the most beautiful lifestyle the world has ever seen. Strong men, protectors and providers--encouraged and backed by strong women who seek to instill Godly courage into their husbands, sons, and brothers. 

Recently, I've run into certain conversations concerning women in the 1860's that automatically assume that women (particularly Southern women), because they had no "voice" had no interest in politics until war hit. I had to laugh because these women--their fierce loyalty to justice and freedom ("political" notions if there ever were any)--literally, at times, kept their men on the field of battle defending their nation. Those kind of convictions don't happen overnight. 

So for the female reenactor who is out on the battlefield (and I do not deny there were a number of women who did disguise themselves and tread the field of battle with courage) --have you ever considered stepping from the men's sphere into the woman's? Have you ever stopped to think of the beauty you could bring to people's notion of the time--of the courage, the bravery, the loyal self-sacrifice of the women (both sides of the WBtS) by donning the dress, the corset, the hoop/petticoats and looking after "the house". Cooking for your men and their buddies...mending their rent clothing and so forth.

What is it that repels you from that? Why don't you want to be a woman in the sphere God ordained for you? A sphere that has such far flung influence...the saying that the "hand that rocks the cradle rules the world" has a mighty lot of truth to it. 

I encourage you therefore...seek to be a woman. Not a "female"--a woman. A woman who strives after the Lord--and consequently, justice, righteousness, courage, valour, faithfulness--in your ordained sphere. The home front. 

In conclusion--this is not to bash the women and girls who take the field. I quite understand the draw. I'm a soldier's daughter and I love tactics and firearms and the roar of artillery. I know that I would enjoy play-acting a soldier. I simple refrain because I am trying to do two things: a) remain in my biblically ordained sphere and b) present a part of history often lost--that of the home front. 

The point of this post is mainly to encourage you to think beyond "the fun"...and to look in all seriousness at the proper role of women in both that time and this. Because God does not change, therefore neither do His standards.

The Before: Aka...Wednesday and Thursday's Adventure.
It actually all started last Friday when we headed off to the Farmer's Market and I cranked up the A/C--only to have nothing but hot air blown in our faces. A statement similar to this fell from my lips: "I will have to put Freon in this next week..."

Next week came and it got to be Wednesday--I ran into town to mail an Etsy package and stop in at NAPA for coolant. I tripped out gaily with my coolant and then didn't get around to attempting "the deed" til late afternoon as I was busy doing other things. 

Plain and simple, I couldn't get the Freon hose hooked up to the adapter-thingy (I have put coolant in a vehicle once or twice before in my life, just never in Annabelle). After a number of diagnostic phone calls with Daddy we determined that it was probably just a shortness/strength issue so he told me to take it over to NAPA in the morning and get them to help me. So that is what I did.

The kind-hearted men tried--two of them--and informed me that they thought the adapter must be the wrong size. Looking at a service-sticker under the hood, they suggested that I take Annabelle back out Eagles and see if they couldn't fix me up. Okay sure. So I called Daddy--he gave me the green light; called home to explain the extra length on my out-and-about and headed up the road a bit to Eagles.

Well--it was lunch hour--so I decided since I was getting hungry myself that I'd go on home rather than wait and get myself some lunch. I got back, Mr. Steve looked at things...and as it turns out, he ended up pulling Annabelle into a bay to run a UV light on her and see if he could locate where/if there was a leak before he even went about trying to put any Freon it. The end diagnosis was something along these lines--he couldn't see ANY Freon or oil in it at all. No apparent leaks. The condenser is kind of clogged up and he wants to clean it (suspects the leak may be there), but it was more than an afternoon job and we needed Annabelle the very next day. So...the consensus was: Go. Be hot. (Have a good time.) Bring her back in Monday morning for the job to be done. 

And that, y'all was the start of the Turkeyville Adventure.

I finished loading (minus last minute things like the cooler and pillows) that evening and the next day we got out--at least an hour later than I intended:

After a phone call to Miss K to determine a few things, I picked our route (the one that takes us through Miss K's home town) and we ended up having lunch with her at this nice little BBQ place she works at.

We made a brief stop at the K's house also in order to pick up the fly and side wall and poles they were so kind to lend us yet again and managed to get to Turkeyville and set up before dark.

Anyway, I slept kind of lousy that night--not just because there were mosquitoes joyfully nibbling upon me, but when I woke up after only a couple hours of sleep at someplace between 3 and 3:30 am...someone a few tents down was carrying on a lively conversation in a middle of the day tone. I didn't get back to sleep after that, not really. I think I dozed a little between 4:30 and 5...but not much. 

Due to how tired I was and how tired I am...my memories may be a little garbled, so bear with me....I have a feeling I'm going to be dropping stuff out of the narrative because I can't remember it at the time of this writing.

​Josh showed up for breakfast and before eating, he tried on his new pants...and I most definitely needed to hem them up!

I ended up cutting the excess off and simply flipping up the raw edge about an inch before stitching it down (though technically I really could have just cut it and left it--unfinished pants were not unusual and that wool isn't going to ravel). I even got to use a sad iron for the first time in my life! I pressed the hem of Josh's pants and also pressed the collar of Hawk's vest.

Speaking of Hawk--we were camped right next to Hawk and Jill. They had even saved the space for us, so that was great! :)

Josh mosied off after breakfast. As I was getting started on hemming his pants, he shows up again and asked us if we'd like to grab our instruments and come down to where a group where jamming. Well, you know us (I think!) and so we collected guitar and fiddle and headed down the line to meet the 9th Kentucky and enjoy a time of jamming before lunch. Really a nice bunch of guys...more on them later though. ;)

Saturday's battle was set in Missouri and the Confederates were supposed to be militia fighting the Yankees....I forget the town and the exact set-up, but that was the general drift. They did something in this battle I've never seen done before. They encouraged spectators to join them on the field. Not randomly of course  (nor armed), but they took their "volunteers" (mostly kids) and put them in formation and marched them onto the field under supervision. They were only allowed on for part of the battle. What follows is a collection of photos taken from Saturday's battle:

Those last bunch of fellows were actually camped behind us and are they ever good! They were quite lively on the battlefield, yelling and when the "Bushwacker" got hit, he twitched and writhed...if I were man, going onto the field, I would probably be like that...really make a good show out of it.

After the battle I don't remember exactly what went on...until all of a sudden I realized that the band was setting up for the dance and that we probably should start tidying ourselves up a little. (My watch was an entire hour slow...I set it wrong that morning entirely by accident.) 

Josh escorted us to the ball along with another of his friends, Lydia. She seems like a real nice girl--I talked to her some at Coldwater. Four wide we "wheeled left" then "wheeled right" on our way into the dance tent. 

While a little "small" (though certainly not the smallest reenactment ball I've ever been to--Fort Pierce in 2014 gets that honour) it was an enjoyable dance and I had plenty of partners--KT and I only danced with each other once! The band that has played the dances I have been to up here is really very good--though I still don't think anyone can beat 7 LB.S of Bacon as a dance band and Mr. Doug as caller... :) 

The gents from the 9th KY invited us to come back to the big-tent after a bit and jam with them some, so we collected our instruments and a candle holder and joined the fun. I don't know how long we played but it was over an hour for sure! I think this was probably one of the BEST jam sessions I have ever been party too. While these guys are really, really good, they were also easy to jam with because they were encouraging and kind. Put it this way, one wasn't left feeling stupid because they didn't know the song, or even the exact chords. My fingers got sore and I started using my guitar as a drum more than I was strumming or finger-picking, but it went on until nigh on midnight. I heard the next day that the 11th Miss (the ones camped behind us) had really enjoyed the music. I was glad because I had started to worry we were being a nuisance to those who might be trying to sleep. Though we were just "right there" from the big tent, a couple of them escorted us "home" after the jam and we said our good-nights.

I slept terrible. Not because I was wound up but because of those things go "buzz" in the night. Them skeeters were NASTY.  I felt like I was awake half the night knocking my head around slapping at those Insekten. I was trying to keep covered, but I felt like I was boiling (it was humid and not really all that cool). In the end, I may have managed to actually sleep for three hours. So I was a little flat the next day. 

I did get a kick of energy about half-way through my second cup of coffee and that, plus adrenaline, got me through the day. Church was at 10, so we showed up a little early and played a few tunes--then we would play again during the alter call. Josh joined us with his gorgeous 12-string. I would give you the basic outline of Hawk's sermon, but due to the state of my mind, I think I would butcher it. All in all--the Ten Commandments. These are the rule of life and we break them ALL when we break one (which we all do). Jesus is the way of salvation because He paid for our sins. (I will add that He also perfectly fulfilled the law and through in that lofty-sounding "double imputation" phrase.)  

Real shortly after the service, Jill and a smallish number of ladies gathered 'round to discuss the lack of women "doing it right" and how to graciously help and encourage them to make the extra effort to do so. Not sure anything conclusive was landed upon, but in my personal opinion, I think it really comes down to the mind-set of the person reenacting. If they don't care, nothing we can say will make them care and if they do care, they will be already be trying to make headway. 

Pres. Davis was there on hand to give a talk and while Katherine went to prepare lunch (it was her week to cook so she was landed the cooking duties for the weekend) Jill and I stayed. Apparently, Mr. Lincoln was supposed to be there as well, but the poor man fell and hurt both of his wrists the day before (I believe he even went to the hospital) so he wasn't there. So, Pres. Davis spoke of Mr. Lincoln. While I am definitely not a big Lincoln fan, I was able to appreciate the kindness and attempt at level dealing in the way Pres. Davis spoke. (Of course, in real life, these presenters are friends, so I'm sure that helps.)

The battle was quite early (1 o'clock) and so lunch was pushed off until after the battle since it wasn't done yet. Katherine stayed in camp and I went to watch the battle, camera in hand. So, this next collection of photos were taken by me (so...they loaded up kinda of random like...):

This battle was the battle of Corydon, Indiana--which I just so happened to hear of for the first time last Sunday!! The Union were supposed to be militia this time...and the Confederates really should have been cavalry as they were filling in for John Hunt Morgan's men. Corydon, Indiana was one of the few battles fought on Yankee Northern turf. I was really rather unsure who won this...

After this battle, both sides lined up to salute the crowd with their musket volley:

I wandered back to the tent at this point and after a fantabulous lunch, would begin breaking down camp in slo-mo fashion. I picked up speed after a bit because we were supposed to get to the K's by 6 so we could join in their "call-in" to their church's evening service and I didn't want to be late again. Josh helped us break down the tent and pack the truck, which I appreciate. 

As Josh and I were finishing the packing, Katherine took a couple of tent ropes over to Hawk so he could teach her how to splice. I showed up just as he was really getting underway--and even though I haven't done it yet, I think I can say that I too learned how to splice. Grandpa would be proud. :) (Kt is currently sitting in the other room splicing the tent ropes, by the way.)

We did make it to the K's with hardly a minute to spare...I tried very hard to pay attention though I was tired enough that I won't say that my attention was at it's peak. 

This last picture brings me back to the truck--and the end of the story I started this post with. There is a twist to this tale that you probably aren't expecting.

When I cranked Annabelle up in the driveway, I noticed she was a little sluggish, but didn't think anything really about it. We stopped a few miles away in town to get gasoline before going on--and Annabelle wouldn't crank. It was the battery. I could tell by the way the engine faded. I just about panicked. I told Katherine to call Abigail because I knew one of the boys or Mr. K would come and give us a jump. Well, Abigail didn't answer...and the house phone didn't answer...and God works miracles. 

I tried one more time and Annabelle roared to life. That my friends, is nothing short of the gracious mercy of God. 

I was on the phone with Mom at the time and she told me "Do NOT turn the truck off until you get home." I didn't.

To continue, I went to crank Annabelle this morning once I had most of the stuff unloaded, so that I could take the rest of it out and unload it directly into the barn...and she wouldn't crank. Each attempt got weaker. So I called Daddy. Battery or alternator he said...or both. After a few minutes, I followed the advice he gave me, put her in neutral and rolled down the slight driveway incline far enough to get the Red Car out of the garage and turned around. Thankful that I know the proper use of jumper cables, I got the two vehicles battery's hooked up and in a few minutes, Annabelle was purring. 

I didn't turn her off either until Mr. F at NAPA told me to...she needed a new battery as the old was six years old.

From there, I took her on out to Eagles. Far later than my "first thing in the morning" appointment. It was after 1 pm. 

The word on the A/C though, to conclude the tale is this: 
The R134 conversion of this make and model vehicle only lasts 1-2 years before the compressor tears up.  It is the wrong type of compressor for R134 to effectively lubricate and it gets all trashed after awhile and the internal gets all plugged up with metal shavings (from the compressor guts). So, while he could fix it for a hunk of money, we'd still have to do it again in 2 years (or so), etc. Daddy told him to put things back together and he will try to find one he can strip off another vehicle and retrofit to Annabelle. 

Well...I'm now sufficiently tired and it's dark so I think bed calls my name.

My routine trip to the barn this morning to feed the cats turned into something more of an adventure than even yesterday (I found a dead possum in the back of the barn yesterday). 

I pushed open the door and gave my usual "Tom-Tom! Little Bit" holler; Tom quickly appeared with a big, hungry "Mowel!" I called Little Bit again (I didn't see her all day yesterday so I was little worried.) Well, I heard a little meow from the back so I went to the back. I kept calling her and she kept answering...but she wasn't showing up. Due to the resonance in the back of the barn, I was having trouble locating the direction of that pitiful mew. For some reason, I turned around, took a step backward and looked up.

There she was. Roughly 15 feet in the air on the rafters. 

Oh. Great.

She sure is a smart little cat though and as I told her to start moving and indicating direction with my hand, she followed (I also basically walked underneath her). When we got to the opposite end of the barn, I kept asking her if she could "go over there" (aka...step from her rafter to the door lintel). It took a minute, but she did so. I was trying to get her centered over one of the vehicle roofs hoping she would jump down. Well, she got over the green Ford first...and wouldn't jump. So next I talked her along the wide rafter next to the bee truck. The skinny cross traces where a little scary for her, but she walked across it for a little then backed up again. She kept pacing the fat rafters and I kept trying to get her back onto the skinny rafter over the truck.

"Uh-uh, Big Cat. I ain't doing that! I almost fell off earlier!"

Oh yes, and during this time she's piteously meowling. She really wanted down but was scared to jump. Finally, I got an idea. A can of food! (Prompted by the other day when I used a can of food to temp her down the ladder in the side of the barn loft--what a nut.) 

I tried just setting it on top of the box on the back of the bee truck...once again hoping she'd jump. Well, she didn't. She got a little more agitated, but couldn't quite bring herself to make that scary four foot leap of that narrow little board.

Bah. Do I have  ladder in here long enough to reach the top of the truck?

Yep. Right there.

So, up I went (I hate ladders). I ended up having to get on the top of the box myself (it's nasty dirty up there). It still took several minutes after that to get her. She wouldn't come close enough for me to reach until I had popped the lid of the can and set it on the far side of the 'V' brace. I kept tapping the can with my fingernail and it finally got to her. She got close and I reached out with my left hand and got a good grip on her scruff and pulled. She dug her claws into the rafters but I got her pulled loose. (Oh yeah, Tom had come up the front of the truck and was pacing around my feet. He was more concerned to get his breakfast than he was the fate of his little sis.) I set Little Bit down and went down the ladder....taking the food with me. 

Tom jumped off the box down over the cab and hood...and raced around to their normal feeding spot. Little Bit wouldn't jump. I guess she was still too scared. So...back up the ladder I went, taking the lid completely off the can and held it under her nose. Once again, once she got close enough I took a handful of fur. This time I tossed her on my shoulder and went down the ladder. The last few rungs she was literally standing with her front paws in the small of my back. 

I hope Little Bit will learn not to go traipsing across the rafters in future. This morning's adventure is not one that I want to repeat! Particularly on my own empty stomach...