I have way too many photos selected for this post...so I will have to see if I can pare down on them! 

This past Saturday, my long-anticipated truck restoration project had it's birth. A couple of real good friends made the trek from their home to ours to help this "mechanic-in-training" officially begin the project. Probably can't give you a real good "play-by-play" since this are a little mixed together in my head. I think once you see the pictures it will be clear that it was rather chilly! I will add that it was also raining nearly all day long...so it was a bit damp in the back of the barn.

Anyway, they arrived before lunch, and Katherine wisely suggested that those of us who were going to work on the truck not begin and get grubby before lunch...so we did a scouting job and then had lunch.

After lunch, we headed back to the barn...where Luke and I promptly addressed ourselves to the fuel tank while Andrew prodded around in the engine (I guess...I was a little preoccupied) and later hooked up a battery...before we all ended up underneath the truck...then working on the fuel line from the tank to the engine. By the time we got around to me sitting in the engine (it is actually an asset to be short sometimes!) the girls had gone in, so any pictures from that came off the guy's phones.

However, before I get into this any further...we made two interesting (and to me) surprising discoveries! First, the fuel tank is not the original. The original was a 30-gallon (according to the manual) and the schismatics Luke pulled up on his phone showed that it would have sat within the chassis, not bracketed to the outside of the chassis like this 40-gallon tank!

Second, the engine is not the original '42/'43 Chevrolet...but a circa '55-'58 Jasper. (And yes, I still need to look that up and see what more info I can find.) It is thanks to Andrew's research that we know that. Anyway...it sure made things makes sense as to why the manual didn't seem to be matching with what we were looking at!

Anyway, back to the fuel tank removal and clean up:

It was about here that Katherine and Abigail went in...but here are a few random shot s from the day: 

After getting the fuel tank back on, the guys cleared the fuel line from tank to sediment bowl...then Luke cleaned the sediment bowl and the fuel pump...

Unattaching the fuel line from the other side of the fuel pump, it was decided that because the copper pipe was twisted so bad up by the carburetor to just cut it off and put the old connector back on further down the pipe. That was an interesting operation to watch...

That old copper tubing got bent...and rebent...and bent again as Luke tried to eke out enough length to get it re-connected to both the fuel pump and the carburetor...which at last it made it...and between the all of us, we got it hooked up.

Then we tried starting her...and the battery charger whined...but nothing doing. 

Still, it was a decent days work--I think--and we all enjoyed it. There was plenty of laughter at any rate! 

Looking forward to the next time which will probably involve brakes....

P.S. Photo credits go to Katherine, Abigail, Luke, and Andrew

It was a long, hot, fun weekend. I am now tired and hopefully will manage to make this an interesting AAR. I am going to do this perhaps a little differently than usual.

Thursday: We arrived at the park around 4:30-ish, if I recall correctly, and as we began to unload, with some slight assistance from Josh, Luke and Abigail arrived with their tent fly and wall for us to borrow again (our tent is a leaker, so the fly actually served as an extra roof). The finished set up looked like this:

Our next door neighbors on our right were, by choice, Hawk and Jill...and they had a new set-up!! What do you think?

We hung out under their fly and got eaten alive by skeeters...but still had fun.

Friday: Being School Day we prepped for the kids to walk through. Once again, we weren't official presenters, but were open to questions. A little over half way through the day, I suddenly realized why people kept asking about candles....

We made some new friends, due in part to a baby's bottle needing to be warmed and we having a close at hand fire...

Josh "strutted" around in his new Captain's uniform... ;)

Abigail and Grace came over Friday evening for supper and to spend the night crammed into our tent with us. Before heading off to the Land of Nod, we ended up photo-spreeing...

Furthermore, Obadiah was called in to play "Taps". Now technically, "Taps" is to be played at 10 pm, but it was probably more like 7 or 8 pm...but it is a reenactment....

Saturday: The big day...the day when the whole K. family turned out for the fun...and Mom and Dad came up for the afternoon!! :)

From my vantage point, the battle was sub-spectacular...not bad, but nothing uber exciting. Luke got hit twice (in the same knee). He said later the first hit was because he forgot to put in his ear-plugs and he wanted to put them in. Ethan got hit in the leg too, and later "died" and Andrew and Obadiah got into the action as well.

After the battle, Obadiah played "Taps"...

Troop photos (plus a few of the girls cheering them on)...

Random shots from the day:

Throughout the course of the day, music was played. In fact, we had an official request from General Lee to surround his tent and play. There are no photos of that, since the camerawomen were playing. Luke's accordion fell apart on him, which was really sad. 

The folks left sometime after the K's did and so Katherine and I sat around with Hawk and Jill for awhile, just relaxing and listening to the music from the ball (we didn't go for a number of reasons, one of which was my feet and legs were so tired), and wondering what was up "over yonder". Turns out a youngster had a 45 minute long nosebleed that led to a trip to the ER. He was apparently fine the next day because he was running around playing with other boys.

Sunday: A fairly peaceful day. Hot and humid. Hawk preached a good sermon out of John 4 (the Samaritan woman at the well), which just so happens to be where Pastor is preaching from at church. 

There wasn't a huge amount of interaction with spectators on this day, but we talked to friends and watched the battle which took it's toll on the Confederates. After that we watched the medical demonstration led by Mr. G (who is friends with the K's, sings "Messiah"...and has defeated Lyme disease himself). 

Something almost funny happened at this point. This lady I have been talking to at events on and off for the past two years came up behind me and re-introduced herself...and then asked a mutual friend/acquaintance, Lydia to introduce us girls to her four sons, as her daughter needed to use the ladies... It was a bit awkward, strolling with a girl in a Union artillery uniform into the Confederate artillery camp to meet the four boys. I remember all their names but one. (Philip, Nate, Curtiss...?) Anyway, I really kind of like Mrs. W. and she seems to like me. She asked how old I was and when I said, "26", her voice and body language seemed to say, "Oh...too old for my boys." :D 

We began to break camp not long after the battle and headed to the K's for Sunday evening church. Various people were taking walks or having naps when we got there, so I ended up standing in the kitchen drinking several mugs of water and talking to Luke for fifteen to twenty minutes while Katherine (poor abandoned dear!) rested herself on the front porch, alone. 

After church, some new friends of the K's arrived and we had popcorn and watermelon out doors.

We all spent the night because we were going to join them in/for the local Memorial Day ceremonies and parade. I know Abigail got photos, but we did not...and since I forgot to take my computer with me, I wasn't able to get any of her's. Therefore, no pictures.

Anyway, Katherine and I marched in our first ever parade. :) We were not too far from the head of it; the local High School band was in the lead, with something between them and Mr. S's (a WWII vet) 1939 Buick which we were behind, in the following order: Grace on a vintage bike, Luke and Abigail, then Katherine and I on either side of Obadiah. Behind us was Josiah on his unicycle. Isaac was supposed to drive his little red tractor, but it conked on him just before parade time. :( Poor thing, he was really disappointed (not that I blame him!) All of us, except Josiah were in 1940's dress (more or less), Luke decked out in his seaman's uniform. Andrew and Ethan did a fly-over in a Husky.

Before the parade though was a ceremony. Then after the parade was two ceremonies--one in each cemetery--on opposite sides of the main road. There was music and speeches and prayers which were Christian. Before the third ceremony, as people were mingling around, I accosted a WWII-vet and was allowed to plant a kiss on his cheek. I left red lipstick on his face, which he left there. The American Legion post was handing out plaques of recognition and he was one of the recipients. As it turns out, he was a sailor!! As he was coming up for his plaque, I heard Mrs. K saying something about the lipstick on his face and I leaned over and grinning said, "That's mine..." She laughed. 

Returning to the house and while waiting for lunch, Josiah and I  went out to look at his bees. In under five minutes, I had been stung twice. Once on the neck and once on the chin...so I about faced and headed in, with Josiah right behind me for ice and lavender oil. Next time, I'm taking my own bee helmet. 

After lunch, during which I bit down on my somewhat swollen lip, we talked and played our various instruments and just had a down right enjoyable time. We were the last to leave...we left around 9 pm, tired and worn out, but with another bucket full of memories. 

Years ago, right after we retired from the Army, I boldly asked my Grandpa, "Can I have your old Army truck?"

The answer being yes, I became the proud owner of a 1942 Chevrolet. I have recently confirmed what my uncle once told us that it was an airfield fire-truck. Only the proper terminology is "airfield crash truck". 

In the post-WWII era the truck was modified from having a proper fire-engine-ish back end to a boasting a large white-painted wooden box. This was my Grandpa's beekeeping truck. I don't know (I will have to ask Grandma) if he built the box on it himself or not. I do know he purchased it in 1959.

Restoration to WWII-service configuration is not going to happen right off for me. I have no clue how much it will/would cost, but I know far more than I currently have to spend. 

Finally feeling that I may be well enough to be serious about this, I am hoping to start working on it this summer. I have already drawn up a list of things that need doing--starting with a battery and a brake job. Whether that is "just" bleeding them (something I have zero experience with) or something more major (I hope not!). I want to do the work myself, though I will doubtless be running to Daddy for help...even though I found and was able to print off a copy of the shop and repair manual.

Between pictures and research and help from a reenacting acquaintance (the gentleman in question is a practicable encyclopedia of WWII information!), I am completely convinced that she is indeed a 1942--only with a few 1943 features--like the dash. But, seeing, as I now know that a certain number sequence is the delivery date (December 4, 1942), that in all likelihood explains the next year model features.

I have GOALS of getting her RWWII ready for this year (clearly not 100% restored). In fact, Mr. Courter saw my FB post and personally contacted me to encourage me to bring her, no matter what she looks like! Talk about being somewhat flabbergasted...

​I love this event...and the people are amazing!

Anyway, back to my truck...I have a number of questions. The two most pressing ones to my mind are:
#1: HOW do I find out where my truck served? I did some poking this afternoon and came up empty.
#2: What was the original paint job's color? Was it the red I can see underneath the OD green or was it indeed Olive Green like the majority of these (or so I read)? I'd LOVE it if it were red (I have seen one colorized photo from 1944 with a red truck--up in Alaska) since that is my favorite color and vintage Chevy red is the best--but if it she needs to be olive, olive she will be--eventually.

Oh...and very importantly, I have to learn how to drive her. I'm fairly confident after reading the manual on top of what I already know about the mechanics of a manual transmission that I can without too much trouble learn how to drive a stick--even a beast of a truck like this one. 

Skimming the manual today after I printed it off, I ended up going to the internet for further descriptions of how internal combustion engines function and as of this evening, I understand better than I ever did before how vehicles go down the road. I still have a thousand things to learn, but each piece of info I tuck away helps. :)

Anyway...I'm excited. I won't say "stay tuned" because if I get started, you'll hear about it and if I don't you won't...and of course, this is an "as I can afford it" project.

Before I get started, let me preface my remarks with Proverbs 15:28:
                               "The heart of the righteous studies how to answer,
                                     But the mouth of the wicked pours forth evil."

I read that this morning and it stuck with me. I want to be the righteous man (or woman) who studies how to answer. I may be a "Johnny come lately" to this whole Confederate Monument Removal debate, but I wanted to speak...even if this ends up just being an exercise is writing and logical thinking for myself.

First off, I have not been following the issue closely--mainly because it makes me angry. I have been aware of it and ground my teeth, but I haven't expended as much energy on it as I might have in the past because it does no one any good for me to be irritable over something I have no control over. 

At any rate, some dear friends brought the subject up after "Messiah" practice earlier this week and I shot off with something along the lines of this is being used as a "distraction from the real issues". Then I realized with almost a sense of panic that while I knew exactly what I was talking about, I could not call it up much less articulate it! (And that, my friend, is one reason I don't do YouTube rant videos. I have this wonderful ability to totally lose my brain even on subjects I am quite capable in.)

Somehow, during my Bible reading out of Proverbs this morning, it hit me, that elusive "it" that the hydraulic door in my mind had slammed shut on, leaving me stranded without the key to open the door again. Yes, it is a distraction, but it's more than just a distraction by the Left from their socialistic, Marxist, statist bent and working. It's an attempt (and often a successful attempt) to manipulate public sentiment and thinking. This is why it is so important to learn how to think. To study history...one thing which they faithfully try to rewrite and destroy, because, as one of the young men pointed out, "If we don't know our history, we are doomed to repeat it." YES and EXACTLY.

The War for Southern Independence was fought, not over slavery (irregardless of how much it may have played some political part in the war), but over the exact same principles that led the Colonies to declare their independence from Great Britain and parliament. Those principles are the SAME ONES still under attack today by the Left--the Statists. 

Furthermore, the principles that the South fought for--that her forefathers in the Thirteen Colonies fought for--are based firmly on the Word of God. This is the real issue  behind the anti-Confederate hate that has spilled over to the point that people with false guilt tear down statues of God-honoring men who also happened to be military geniuses. 

The ungodly have, and always will, hate true law and order. Even if they are "law-abiding" citizens and for the most part prefer to live in a nation that has good laws, at their heart they still hate God and thus His law (upon which all true law and order are founded).

So yes, the tearing down of monuments makes my heart cry out. It angers me that my heroes are dishonored, my homeland abused and scarred.

But it also leaves me wondering, "How stupid can we, the people of America, be?" The liberal media (and whoever they are controlled by) have been manipulating the facts and the arguments for DECADES now. When do we shake ourselves like wet dogs and sit up and say, "I am actually going to think about these issues"? When do we, Conservatives, Christians...when do we stop letting them control the narrative? 

I pray God that MY generation wakes up. That MY generation will not be weak-kneed and hand their history to the trash bins. That MY generation will be given life by the Spirit and face the opposition like David against Goliath: "Then David said to the Philistine, “You come to me with a sword, with a spear, and with a javelin. But I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you and take your head from you. And this day I will give the carcasses of the camp of the Philistines to the birds of the air and the wild beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. Then all this assembly shall know that the Lord does not save with sword and spear; for the battle is the Lord’s, and He will give you into our hands.”" (I Samuel 17:45-47)

This is not arrogance but humble reliance on God for HIS almighty justice. 

My friends...the monument debate is important because history is important because TRUTH is important. It is more important than a statue...but when one removes visible reminders of truth (you know, something that may spark an interest in a passerby to look beyond what they've been told), then statues of long-dead men take on more significance. 

We are at this point because past generations played the weakling. Have failed to stand firm on truth. It's a practical outworking of the theology and philosophy of the day. And while angering, it is also saddening and should cause us to turn more earnestly to the Almighty in prayer for our fellow countrymen. 

Fools seek to destroy their history. Wise men seek to learn from their history. God willing, let us seek to be wise men--not only for our own good, but for His glory.

As I sit here, with a bit of a headache (dehydration catching up with me), I realize there is so much...and yet I seem to have so few words...or even worse, few distinct stories to regale you with. Perhaps the whole weekend was colored by the passing of Bob. I think more than that though, I was in a new role and was therefore slightly uncertain and more timid feeling than usual. Still, with that said, I really did have a wonderful time and I hope that the H young'uns that we brought along with us had as good as a time as Katherine and I did!

Alright, moving into the chronological telling of the tale. 

The week before was solid work (that is not a complaining statement). I woke up earlier than usual and hit the ground running--not taking my usual hour over coffee and Bible (not that I entirely skipped either). While I might not necessarily read, I took time to place my upcoming day before the feet of the All-knowing Father, seeking to bring Him the glory in the labors of my hands. There were several days where I had started sewing again before I even had my breakfast!

Thursday morning (the 21st) I intended to sleep in a little--it didn't happen. I woke up and just got right up and whipped up four more aprons. I didn't get around to packing my clothes until that morning either, though I pretty much had Annabelle packed the day before. I had wanted to get out before we did, but I guess I can't complain too much since we didn't really have any Thursday deadlines. 

We got to our first destination, the H's sometime in the evening. We ate supper and then socialized for a bit before everyone headed to their respective places of repose. R's bed is far squishier than I'm used to, but I guess I zzz-ed off pretty well. 

Friday morning, as seems to be my habit when elsewhere than my own home, I woke up before anyone else. I confess that having to stay abed to keep from waking other people up can be a little hard for me since when I'm awake I like to get up.

Anyway, the long and the short is, I got R and L's things packed into the truck and we all headed on our way before 10 am.

As of Thursday night there had been two planned stops on the way down. One to see the H's newest grandbaby (R hadn't seen her new nevy yet) and the other to see Bob, my vet friend. Friday morning, I learned that he had passed early that morning, so one of the stops wasn't going to happen. We did stop and see the baby though--and I even got to hold the tiny man!

From there we continued south, our destination Linden, Tennessee. We stopped again at some point once we got into Tennessee for lunch at a Mexican restaurant and gas at a nearby station. From here I called Bob's nephew to learn a few more details concerning the viewing and funeral. The funeral was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. We were going. Period. Not that anyone argued with me on that subject.

We arrived in Linden, got ourselves registered and headed over to set up at the vendor area. Turns out, set up didn't start until 5 (for some reason I thought it was 3-8, not 5-8), so we turned tail and headed back out of town, planning to set up our tents on the Courter's property. I would like to give testimony here to the kind of gracious people they are. Apparently Mrs. Courter tried calling me (cell reception is weird down there and it didn't show up that she had called until nearly mid-day next day), but when that failed she sent Mr. Courter after us. Said gentleman chased us all the way to his home to inform us that we were free and welcome to stay in their cabin there on the property! I won't say I hemmed and hawed much. We have no A/C in the truck and it was nothing short of hot and the notion of running water, bathroom facilities, and a window A/C unit was too tempting to argue with. I gladly accepted for our party and we refolded the one tent that we had out and the tarp and hauled our clothing and food into the cabin before turning about and heading back into town to get the vendor stuff unloaded.

The three youngest K boy's showed up while we were unloading and helped out. Then I gave them a lift back to the encampment area. Aren't they just the handsomest? ;)

It was time for dinner, so the H's, the K's and we two girls managed to find seating together and enjoyed our meal (Kt and I had our own food since spaghetti was once again on the menu) before transferring seating for the Friday night movie: The Perfect Specimen. It was a goofy late 1930's film...and L decided that he must razz me over my driving after that as the main female character drove quite enthusiastically. Honestly, I did not sling my passengers the way she would have done had she had any!
​ 
Once the movie was over, we split up pretty quick and headed out in our separate directions--tomorrow was the big day!

Saturday morning, we did manage to get into town by 7:15 (it required getting up around 5:30). Paul, a friend and fellow Veteran Area Volunteer, had told me that I needed to be in the Vet Area by 7:30 for our briefing. Well, somehow that briefing never materialized, so I went off of the things I had read in the emails sent out to the volunteers and tried to be helpful--though I think I really did more talking to friends, new acquaintances, and veterans than I did actual helpful things. And the one time I did, chasing after David N. to go collect water for the vets after the Vet Photo (hot sun, you know), by the time we got back we discovered that someone had already done the job! Oh well. 

I would be in and out of the Vet Area all day long (after all, it was my duty station). I took several walks down to the vendor area for water and such like as well as taking a rather quick turn through the Historical Exhibits building where I learned a few interesting things from a lady with a field nurse's impression/display. 

I watched the first battle from the spectator side of the line with R and L and Bob's nephew Eric who came to see me and give me a few more details about Sunday's funeral. He wanted to see one of the speakers as well, but that particular gentleman was unable to attend at the last minute. (Once again, I didn't catch any of the offical speakers. In fact, I forgot about them!) I did talk to half a dozen (at least) vets--only one of whom I "knew"--that would be Verl--the man who has "two of those" (cheeks--and gets a kiss on each one. ;) )

Anyway--the morning battle senario--the Germans take the town from the Allies. They had soldiers on the roofs this year which was a new touch.

Shortly after that last shot in the gallery, the Allies got pushed back by the Germans again, and the battle ended with the Germans in control of the town.

Lunch time rolled around and I slid into line with R and L--right behind Obadiah and Isaac! 

I got a hamburger and big fat dill pickle for myself and a brat for Katherine. What with that, two bottles of water, and a couple bags of chips, I was loaded down (with pickle juice dripping down my hand)--and as I was headed for the cross-walk I looked to see Luke K. standing on the other side of the road. He grinned real big and spread his hands--it could have either been, "Where's mine?", "Need a hand?", or "That's Racheal for you...." I think I just laughed. 

When I got across the street, he asked, "Have you seen my mom?" And she was coming up behind him as he spoke...anyway...a couple of humorous incidents all combined in the same five minutes. 

One really surprising thing that happened though was as Mr. K and I were walking down the sidewalk at one point during the day, I heard someone call my name, "Racheal!" I looked over at the speaker, a pretty girl in a red dress and I stared. I recognized the face...and as I was fumbling for the name, she leaned forward and said, "Madison." I forget exactly what I blurted, something like "Madison---what are you doing here?" I haven't seen this young lady since mutual friends wedding and didn't even know she was in this part of the country, so it was really surprising to see her smiling at me. It was a pleasant meeting, though we didn't actually stand and chat for very long.

Other random happenings included photos like the following:

The Veteran's parade was headed up by the 101st Airborne Division's Band again this year:

The afternoon battle was roughly the opposite of the morning battle--the Allies retook the town from the Germans:

Shortly after the second battle, I reappeared in the vendor area and helped with the breakdown. (Unfortunately, we left our rack weights behind the parking lot!) We hurried off back to the Courter's property to clean up and change for the dinner. I missed the volunteer photo but we had a little fun by ourselves. ;)

We didn't miss out on dinner though. There were only about four chairs, so the ladies were provided seats while the gents either shared chairs or ate sitting on their knees! Our party consisted of most of the K's (at various times), the H's, Paul, Jonathan B., and us...it was an enjoyable company.

The USO show took place during dinner and we kind of sorta missed most of it...but what we saw/heard was enjoyable.

After dark (around 9:15 or so), the fireworks started.

We tried not to stick around too late because everyone was tired (and some of us were sunburned), but as the K's were headed to a different church service in the morning, we tried to make the most of our remaining minutes...it's always so hard to break away and say goodbye to the people you enjoy being with.

The girls (Katherine, R, and myself) stayed up a little late talking about life "things"...it was good conversation that stands out. We did eventually get to bed and off to sleep...

Sunday morning, we worshiped at the First Baptist Church--Mr. Courter spoke and I must say that the service actually felt like a worship service this year rather than a patriotic service (like last year). We stayed for lunch then headed out shortly after to attend Bob's funeral.

Bob's funeral was as good as a funeral can be. I believe that Johnny (Bob's brother) really did appreciate the fact that we came. It was a smallish kind of funeral, most of the people attending being on the older side, but small doesn't mean a man was not loved.

From the funeral we headed straight back to the H's house. We got in after dark and found the whole of the H clan (that I know) encamped in the living room. It was grand to see Andrew...

We didn't leave from the H's til shortly after noon on Monday...and so we got home safely with no issues.

We both had a good time, despite sad happenings. And...as usual...I'm already looking forward to next year!

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.

A'right. Take two at this. My first attempt got "crashed". Take two's are never as good, but I can try.

I'll begin Thursday morning...after three days of non-stop push to get ready and loaded, we headed out a little later than I wanted to. We had to make three stops: the post office, the gas station, and 20/20 Vision for Katherine's new glasses. After that, rather than back-tracking to go the way I had intended to, I decided to head north and angle over to the road I wanted to take. In the long run, I'm sure it actually saved a little time, but we almost got lost and so I was happy that we had the Gazetteer in the truck.

Hitting the road we wanted, we roared along (Annabelle does roar a bit, even at lower speeds) and made it to our Miss K's house around 1:30. We spent about the next hour eating lunch and chit-chatting before we moved along. I said something at one point that put Miss K into a fit of laughter--and I'm still at a loss as to what I said that was so funny!

Arriving at Heritage Park with plenty of daylight left, we got registered and I started looking around for Hawk and Jill's set up. When I spotted a familiar gray trailer, I knew where we were going to set up. We "parked" ourselves right across the 'street' (really a wide sidewalk that ribbons through the park) and began setting up. Hawk appeared after a little bit and helped us get the tent set up and beyond that gave us some very helpful (and appreciated!) pointers on setting up a canvas tent. 

Abigail came in sometime in the evening bringing what was supposed to be fly (we have one but cannot find it!)...it turned out it was actually a side wall--but as that came in handy later there were no complaints! Hawk had an extra fly so we borrowed that, too. ;) All in all, I think we had a nice little cozy set up. (Sorry, no pics--Kt forgot her camera!)

Next day was "Education Day" (or "school day" if you prefer) so from 9 am to roughly 4 pm there were school kids everywhere. I wasn't set up, or prepared to be a presenter, but at some point while I was working on lunch, I look up to see a group of young'uns and chaperones standing before me in an expectant kind of way. After a moment of "good grief, now what do I do??" running through my head, I gave them the greeting of the morning and explained that while I wasn't an official presenter, that they were free to ask me any questions they might have and I would try to answer them.

That became my routine as the morning progressed and more groups stopped at my tent to see what on earth I was up to and what I could tell them--so I pitched into a subject closely related to the turnips and other root vegetables I would putting into my stew. Southern food shortages and how the women survived on very little that they had to make do with and feed their children. I was pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the words and sentences rolled off my tongue and praise the Lord that my normal stress stutter and word mixing did not make an appearance! I only remember the faces out of three or four groups, but my favorite was a small mob of eighth grade Hispanic boys. They were enjoying themselves mightily I believe and while some of the questions they asked me were silly, such as "are you really going to eat that?" (the stew), I think there were other good ones. I can't really remember now, I had an absolute blast bantering with them as they were just fun! As they were fixing to move off, one of them inquired, "Can we taste your stew?" I don't know if my eyes got big or not (I rather think they might have), but while I laughingly informed them that it wasn't done, my internal mind is looking at 8-10 teenage boys and yelping, "No way!! This is my lunch and supper!! If each of them tried it there wouldn't be any left!" That might have been a slight exaggeration, but irregardless, I would think that legally the reenactors probably shouldn't be feeding spectators anyway.

Later on, while sitting under Hawk and Jill's fly, I would see this same group of boys--and get asked if the stew was good. (It was.) Hawk had an absolute blast with them as well and when they finally left there were fist bumps and funky handshakes and hugs. It was hilarious. (Oh yeah...I forgot. They wanted to get their picture taken with me!! I had forgotten that. They were just enthusiastic about everything.)

One of the most interesting interchanges I witnessed during the day happened shortly after the boys had left and a bored group or two had gone through. Into the shade of the fly stepped another group of eighth graders, headed by this cute little blonde girl with big glasses and an attitude that became apparent when she opened her mouth. She was an adamant Unionist.

Hawk, not quite his usual joke-cracking self, set about asking questions. He's good at this: ask questions that challenge the "party line", the "brainwashing". As he kept firing questions at her, I was watching her face and those of her classmates. As they were forced to answer his questions, to look at the facts, or at least the other side of the issue, it was like seeing light bulbs going on in their eyes. It is a fascinating thing to see people's eyes being opened as they are encouraged to exercise their mental faculties. Finally, after a bit of getting them to think, Hawk asked one question/made a request: that all the ones who believed in defending the Constitution at the cost of the Union should come stand on one side of the tent--and whoever would betray the Constitution (and consequently our liberties) for the sake of the Union to remain where they were. Get this: Every single one of those kids went over to the Confederate side of the tent--including our little blonde girl. The teacher was called over by the kids, but he raised his fist and declared, "The Union forever!" Moments later, as this situation got slightly awkward, the kids were rapped at that it was time to go. If there is one thing I want to learn from Hawk...it is how to force people to think the way he does. He seems so nonchalant about it and it's fascinating to watch him "work".

Friday evening, Abigail and Grace arrived to spend the night with us in-tent! As we were standing/sitting around chattering like magpies, we spotted Luke and Andrew walking down the "street" craning their necks around in obvious search of someone or something....Grace, being a little ornery, popped behind a trashcan (hiding!), hailing her brothers at about the same time they turned around. They continued to walk away and Grace looked disappointed that they had not seen her (which in fact, at least Andrew had). The boys had come to find out who they were going to fall in with in the morning, but they stayed around for a bit of a cozy chat (six people, plus two tables and a few other items under a fly in the rain is cozy). They finally betook themselves home (that sounds like we wanted them to leave...which wasn't the intent!) and the girls made ready to hit the hay--or sack rather. Three of us literally "sacked out" on the ground on our sleeping pallets and sleeping bags while the one with the cot was elevated over the boxes of clothing and excess (kitchen stuff, towels, candles, etc.)

I had the dubious honor of being the first one up....and after nipping out of the tent as quietly as possible I proceeded to attempt (that's a key word in this sentence) to chop up some wood into small enough pieces to fit  in our  brazier. Well yes, I believe I did wake up the other girls with my persistent, stubborn "thump! thump! thump!" as I tried to whack away with a dull hatchet on damp wood. I just wanted my coffee, that's all. So anyway, after they all got up, I got dressed and went back to my whacking...eventually, over the course of the day, I whacked, Josh whacked, Luke whacked, Mr. K whacked, and a complete stranger whacked at the wood. The hatchet, though it felt sharp to the touch simply wasn't wanting to cut wood. It got kind of funny after a while.....

Anyway...we ate breakfast and collecting our instruments we headed for the train station where we played for a little bit before actually getting on board and continuing to play on and off through the whole ride to the other train station (they even put us on the PA system!!) We got out there and played a little more (by the way, many thanks to Josh for hurrying up as the train was fixing to roll and handing his guitar tuner and music book through the window! I really needed the tuner...)

The scenario this year, if I gathered correctly, was that the Yankee's were transporting gold on the train...they also had a prisoner (whom we boldly serenaded with "Dixie" as they marched him through the car). The Confederates got on board at the second train station and as they made their way through the cars they demanded people put their hands up. As they got to our car, I couldn't exactly raise my hands as I had my guitar in one hand and Abigail's violin and bow in the other. The soldier in front leveled his pistol at my as I sat there staring at him and asked gruffly, "Can you play a tune?" to which I responded, "I could...if both hands weren't full." Then he demanded, "Can you play Dixie?" "Yes, SIR!" Handing Abigail back her violin we threw ourselves into it. (We also played Dixie for General Lee--who was actually camped across from us with General Grant! We were introduced to him two weeks ago at Hartford City and he really seems to be a kind man. He told us several times over the weekend that he enjoyed our music--we played various times singly or together throughout the course of the weekend.)

The skirmish at the train station wasn't quite as spectacular this year I didn't think...but no matter. We had fun.

When we got back to came I went straight to getting the fire going again and making lunch. I was feeding the K's and Josh and as five of them were engaged in the battle in various manners, so I had to get them fed before 2 pm. I was pushing it. They had just enough time to eat before they hurried off to fight for our glorious Confederacy. 

The battle really could have stood a few more Yankee infantry--there were only like six? They Yankee's were literally out-numbered by the gaggle of girls pretending to be nurses. It makes me snigger because not a one of those girls really seriously seems to have any know-how on how to deal with wounded men. For instance...walking a fellow with a leg wound off the field, little girlie has him by naught but the elbow. Okay, so I know it's all play-acting and fake--but let's try to bring a little bit of reality to this, please. If a guy has a gaping hole in his leg, he isn't going to be tripping along so nicely. You're going to have to help him to walk if he can even walk and you don't do that by daintily gripping his elbow. Right. Rant over. Maybe next time I ought to just descend from my high horse and go grab the fellow. ;)

Among "our boys", Josh was first on a cannon and then helping with the wounded. He made it out unscathed. Luke was shot through the upper arm. He got by without an amputation. Andrew, poor fellow, was mauled in the leg by the grape shot and was mortally wounded, dying in the Yankee field hospital. Obadiah and Isaac, flag bearers both, made it out apparently fine. 

After the battle, some of the K's left, while the rest stayed (dear Mr. K helped Katherine with the dishes!!) and talked, laughed, and played music and sang. Josh is a guitar player so he joined us. 

The K's left closer to 6 than they did 5...and I got to carry the fellows reenacting weapons out to Luke's truck. I don't know if I'm a nut or not, but it's something of a privilege when people let me carry their firearms. ;)  There were hugs and handshakes all around and farewell if we don't see you tomorrows (we had borrowed stuff we had to drop off at their place when we left). 

I had a biscuit with butter on it for supper and got ready for the ball. The ball was fun--even though I only danced with one person for the whole evening. :D Mr. Roy was nice. This particular dance goes from 7-10, unlike most that I've been to which go from 8-11. It is actually rather nice because it allows one to get to bed earlier. 

Sunday was a nice, pretty restful day (despite the bit of rain and the need for packing). Katherine and I sat around after breakfast and before church and played hymns. While we were doing so, Hawk (who is a minister and the man to preach at the church service) come over and asked us if we felt confident enough to play for a bit before the service (like a prelude) and during his alter call. (I know, being a Presbyterian, we don't "do" alter calls, but I am not going to look down my self-righteous nose at people who do...particularly the way Hawk does them because he also calls up believers who simply have something they would appreciate prayer over. In other words, it's not just a 'give you life to Jesus' emotional gimmick [which is what some of the alter calls I've seen feel like], but a real "I want to pray with/for you" thing.)  What's more, when Hawk goes to the Word, he's serious and earnest in his handling of it. The message was both encouraging and edifying (as was the other one I've heard him preach). While I can't remember the exactly chapter/verse, the text he spoke from was out Matthew when Jesus walked on the water. He drew from it the follow points (and I forget exactly how he tied each one to the passage, but he did): 1) just as your physical person needs feeding, so does your spiritual and the way you feed your soul is by reading your Bible--and regularly. 2) We must exercise our faith--examples he gave were praying in public (don't be embarrassed or abashed to do so) and sharing the gospel with people. 3) We need fellowship with other Christians--regardless of denomination. 4) We must communicate with God--in prayer. 

We did play during the alter call (and communion! I've never had communion at a reenactment before and didn't expect to play during it but when he said--"when the music begins", I looked at Katherine and said, "Play this one!" We swung it okay. We were also sitting in the back because it's kind of our policy that we don't want to be center stage in situations of this sort.) Several people came up afterwards and thanked us for playing, saying it added to the service. We thanked them for their kind words and I at least, felt a little silly. I am pleased, naturally, that people liked the music, but we didn't play for accolades...just simply because Hawk asked us to and to try to bring glory to God. I do think that music has the ability to put people into a thoughtful mindset--particularly if they are familiar with the words of the hymns being played. I just think we need to work on a wider repertoire because Hawk asked if we might not consider doing it again next time he preaches and we are there. 

Just sayin', I think I played my guitar more in the last weekend than I have the last three months put together. It felt good. Now I need to get new strings. ;)

After church, I made lunch for us and Hawk and Jill and then we sat around for a few hours talking and minorly packing and letting the rain pass us by. Some of us did go watch the battle...and guess what? The Confederates won!

When we did finally get around to packing up in earnest, I made this awful discovery that I had apparently lost mom's set of truck keys! (Thankfully, we had a second set with us.) I still haven't found them. I asked up at the registration/command post if anyone had turned in a set of keys--someone had but they weren't mine. I didn't loose them in Abigail's car (she looked for me) and I did not find them in any of the boxes when we got home, so I am entirely at a loss. Anyway, I took the other set of keys and upon arriving at where Annabelle was parked I found that the battery was dead. Like D.E.A.D. I think the interior lights may have been accidentally left on and it drained the battery. I was going to go back and get Hawk to give me a jump (I was slightly worried that the starter had died on me--though looking back I can see various reasons that should have indicated to me that it was the battery and not related to the starter at all) and as I walked across the parking lot, "Cousin" Ron (we met him last year and helped out at their sutlery on Education Day) hailed me from across the way, "Are you dead?" "Yes!" "Hang on! I'll get you going again!" He probably had to unhook his trailer to come and jump me, but he did it with cheerfulness and in a little while, Annabelle was alive again. I thanked him profusely and he just grinned and made it clear he didn't mind at all.

At anyrate, by the time we got packed up and had eaten at least a quarter of a watermelon with Hawk and Jill, it was shortly after 6...so we headed off to the K's and caught most of their evening church service. The sermon was a good one concerning how to deal with domestic violence from a biblical perspective (I think they are working through the 10 commandments using the WLC, if I caught details right there). 

Once that was over and an amount of conversation/reflection on the sermon took place, we resorted to the front porch for popcorn and apples (rest easy, Mum! It was non-GMO corn! :D) There were puppies all over the place and I got to cuddle one or two...Obadiah piped up at my elbow, "See...you need a puppy!" I just laughed...they are sweet little dogs, but I have plenty of cats right now. ;)

We slipped off to the shop to see a WWII Willies Jeep they had in there (someone else's) and I was allowed to sit in the driver seat. Those seats were very familiar feeling...I think I was probably grinning like an absolute goof-ball the whole time! Then we went in to look at pictures Abigail had taken on a recent trip. Out of the middle of nowhere, Katherine realized the time and tapped her watch, "We need to go!" Sure enough...it was still about another 30 minutes later when we left, but at least we got started at that point. I appreciated the cup of coffee Luke prepared for the driver (me!) and we got home safe and sound around 12:30 am. Katherine sent out all the "we're home" texts to those who needed them and after a hot shower we went to bed. 

I must say that that I have had an extremely surprising amount of energy since coming home. I really didn't drag around yesterday (Monday) and go the truck unloaded and a number of things done--some of it writing on this, but I wasn't drained exhausted like I expected to be. Once again, I can say, "Praise the Lord for continued healing!!" Energy and stamina levels are increasing. 

Well, once we get lunch here, I need to get out there and start mowing. The grass has had a two week stretch again between mowings and it needs it...

Sometime before I completed my new 1860's dress I popped up into our barn loft and had inspiration strike! It's at least 100 years old in that part of the barn and I'm sure barn construction techniques did not vary very much between the 1860's and the early 1900's...and I knew I wanted a barn loft photoshoot for my new dress. We'll ignore the fact that it didn't come out as perfect as I wanted--the dress that is. The photoshoot was I think productive. Brace yourselves for a post full of my new dress, my round mug, an old barn, and an orchard full of white blossoms!!

The enemy of Christ always realizes the value children. Why? Because they are the next generation and "train them up in the way they shall go" and they will follow right along in the footsteps of their fathers. Fill their little skulls full of mush with evil--and evil will follow. Teach them the Word of Righteousness--and even if they are not saved, they have a foundation of morality. (Can they entirely reject it? Of course, just as a child raised by evil can be not as entirely depraved as he has been raised to be--or he can even find salvation.)

Why, I must ask, why do Christian parents abandon their children to be educated by the state (particularly in these days)? Why are we so blind and so trusting? Why do we think that our little ones can resist the forces of evil alone? Why do we think that they will not be affected by the world around them unless we protect them and guide them?

As a child, I was educated at home; I lived what believe to be a fairly sheltered life (though the nature of my dad's job left me from an early age with the knowledge that life is bigger than me and my circle). As I grew older, and stronger in my faith, as I was fed the Word of God and settled on the doctrines of Scripture, I was introduced to the world as it is. A place of sin...and I was equipped to deal with it by further education. But! I was not equipped to deal with it as a child--even though I went to church every week and read my Bible every morning. If I had been thrust into the sphere of government education as a child, my mind would have been warped (I believe) in spite of my born-again state. 

Even further--I have seen under-prepared (home-educated) young people in their mid-to-late teens enter "secular" colleges...and have their thinking warped. Twisted. We must be ever vigilant as parents, as siblings, as friends, as PEOPLE to be aware of where the wayward heart of man is directed and constantly re-turn minds (our own included--first, actually) to the Word of God. To evaluate the basis of our thinking, our worldview. 

I have no children. I have no husband. I have no particular male friend for that matter. But I still see, and must see, and prepare to fight the enemy in all areas. Pride, lust of the flesh, anger, laziness...my children. I long to have little's I can call "my children" (for now I have to borrow other peoples' darlings) and yet I realize...their souls must be fought for, prayed over, given to the Lord. Outside of prayer, how best to do that but shield them from the influence of the world until they have a foundation under them which never buckles? I cannot guarantee that God will see fit to call those future children of mine into His fold, but I must never cease to guard them as children. When they become men, naturally, there is a letting go--but until they are grown--it is my responsibility before God (along with the husband I haven't yet) to protect them, guide them, instruct them in the Word of God.

Yes. The enemy understands the value of the children. The enemy delights in corrupting their minds...the enemy loves to use them. Why willingly hand them to him? 

History teaches us much...