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 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...

Sometimes, novels really have a knack of getting a point across--or a way of wording something in a way that opens a different view of a subject to you. Even if it's something you know sometimes novels can word things so concisely that the eyebrows go up in a "I haven't heard it put that way before" style.

I am talking, by the way, of historical novels in general. Historical fiction is one of my main favorites for reading since it revolves around history without necessarily being entirely constrained to word for word quotations and even entirely "real" occurrences, thus giving both the author and the reader a little leeway to use their imaginations. NOT that I condone messing with actual fact. Let's get that straight.

I do not usually read "biographical novels" (which, let's be honest are historical fiction based on a particular real person's life) preferring to get my facts about people from their own writings and/or biographers who have done extensive research. Anyway, I am currently reading The Smiling Rebel by Harnett T. Kane. It's about Belle Boyd:

I'm not really here to delve into Miss Belle's exploits at the moment though...remember where I started "when novels..."?

I was reading along and around page 198, Belle and her papa are reading a newspaper account of Lincoln's "Emancipation Proclamation" (which, y'all really, if you read the wording is absolute poppycock since he had no jurisdiction over the areas in which he declared slaves "free"). So? So this:

And how, my dear readers, is the War for Southern Independence, remembered by the majority of people these days--from both North and South (and internationally)?

A war for or against slavery.

Was slavery an issue? Yes. Was it the issue? No. Was slavery part of the "States Rights" issue/debate? Yes. Was it the cause of the war? No; even though some people can make a compelling case that it was a strong factor. 

But look again at that quote...altered the conflict...in both sections and also for the people of other nations. Do you see it? Do you see what I saw in a way I hadn't seen before? 

When Lincoln declared war on slavery (remember peeps, he said right out the gate that his goal was to "preserve the Union" [union? when the sides hate each other? what kind of "union" is that?] and if he could do it without freeing a single slave, he would)...well, when Lincoln declared war on slavery, he defined (I should say, redefined) the terms of the conflict and very likely put the final nail in the coffin of British support for the South--since the Brits were very anti-slavery. The man who defines the terms has an upper hand. 

In conclusion of this probably slightly incoherent post, may I just say that allowing our enemy (I don't care where or when or what we're talking about) to define the terms of the fight (while occassionally inevitable) is a foolish thing to do. We end up spending our time trying to defend ourselves rather than being on the offense. We have justify our actions. Or maybe we don't have to, but we feel obliged to because we really just want to live in peace and maybe if they understand they will leave us alone. People. It doesn't work that way. The Enemy of Truth is never going to listen to Reason, Logic, or Good Morals. Live it. Fight it. Breath it. Teach it. But don't become an apologetic apologist--and I mean the person who apologizes for being right; be the apologist who unapologetically pronounces the Truth. 

P.S. I believe this stuff passionately. But...every time I talk about it, I feel guilty. I don't practice it enough. So...these pep-talks are aimed at ME as much as they are anyone else. I, like the next guy over, needs to be reminded to stand fast on the firm ground of Truth (all true truth coming from the Bible and a biblical worldview)--to define MY terms and not accept an alternation definition. We cannot let the Lincolns or Devils of this world to define our fight for us. We need to put THEM on the defense. How? Standing solid in the Word of God and what it teaches--regardless of the cost. It's easy, oh so easy, to say that. God Almighty, grant Your people the steadfastness found only in YOUR strength!! (Philippians 4:13)

I got distracted this afternoon when I went to the barn and cranked Annabelle, the green Ford, and the "Navy Ambulance Van". I got distracted for sure poking around my truck. Not my GMC pick-up in Florida...but my 1942 Chevrolet Army Truck.

I poked around, got in, sat behind the wheel, turned the key--which did absolutely nothing--mainly because I later realized she's not hooked up to a battery at all. I crawled up on the fender and peered into the engine, calling out to myself the various parts of the engine I know and am at least vaguely aware of how they function. There is some wiring that needs replacing for sure. 

Then, while waiting for the other vehicles to run a little longer, I went and I sat in a green plastic chair and just looked at the old girl.

That's when it hit me. I knew she needed a name (most of our vehicles are named, you know) and it came to me all of sudden and felt right.

Bobbie Mae.

Bobbie--because she was Grandpa's before she was mine and his name was Robert. He went by Bobby as a boy.

Mae--because I thought "Bobbie Mae" sounded like a nice 1940-ish name. Maybe something a feller would have nicknamed his ride--be it a truck or a plane. (I also had a great-grandmother on my dad's side with that name as her second name.)

Anyway, Bobbie Mae needs work--a lot of it. Like several thousand dollars worth, I reckon. Still...someday, I want to restore her to her former glory. And so...I day dreamed. 

I hardly think I'll be able to get started on her this spring like I half-seriously dreamed last fall...but it sure would be nice. I need to do reading, parts research, historical research...and learn how to drive a manual. :D 

Too many projects--and not a one of them galloping along with any speed. You'd think my projects were all astride an ancient nag...eh well. We'll have to see if a good night's sleep puts any pep back into that nag... ;)

Off to bed shortly,

I have this itch...no, not the one back there on my right shoulder blade that always reminds me where the spider bit me when I was 11...no, it's communication itch. I don't really feel like talking--but I feel like writing. It's not a creative writing itch either, just a ramble-writing itch. So here I am. It's been a while since I've done one of these...and it's been a long time since I have been consistent with my blog. Sometimes I even forget I have a blog. 

I seem to be having a fairly consistent element of brain fog recently. Not debilitating brain-fog; more along the lines of it takes actual work to concentrate, but I can concentrate if I really have the desire to. I'm bored when I have both no right to be bored or any reason to be bored. I have spent far too much time on the computer this week--which feeds the bored. Sounds odd, but it's true. When I spend too much time on the computer, I get bored faster. 

I have a half finished baby girl's dress in the other room. I need to finish putting the collar on, put the sleeves in, and hem it and it will be done. Oh yes, I do need to put the rick-rack on it too. Anyway...it's sitting there...and I'm sitting here and I don't "feel" like finishing it up. I might after a bit, but I'll get the "itch" out of my system first.

While the pretty orange dress sits there and gets cold, let me tell you something. My toes are cold. The nice thing in that frigid statement is that they are not numb. See, a lot of time when my toes get cold, one or two of them (on both feet) get numb and will not "wake up" even once my feet warm up enough that they should. Just a couple of days ago, I started using this "Circulation" essential oil blend and I think it is helping. Well, even if it's not, it has a real nice aroma to it, so the only ones who might complain about it might be the cats. 

My guitar really needs new strings. I've been saying that for months now and haven't done anything about it. I either need to go to the local music store and see if they have what I want or order myself some. I think I'd be a little more inclined to play if my instrument didn't sound flat and dull even when it is in-tune. There is something so disheartening about "dead" strings. I cannot remember the last time I changed them, but it is possible it has been over a year. (Yeah, y'all string players out there...cringe with me!)

Speaking of instruments and music, I've been pretty consistently playing piano. I mostly play out of "The Civil War Songbook" (big surprise, right?) and am starting to get some decent sounding speed up on some of the pieces I like to play. Others--well, not so wonderful sounding.

Katherine and I went to Hobby Lobby yesterday. I was shopping for a particular couple of projects and got some thing(s) for both. A friend from church has commissioned me to make him a particular Confederate uniform and I found, marked down in the remnant section, more than enough of a certain type of material I needed for part of kit. Nifty. I also found another remnant of white muslin that will work to make Katherine the white chemise she needs to accompany her ball gown. Now...we just need a day when we both are feeling up to corsets and fittings. (Katherine has not been doing so great this week.)

I have this bad habit. I have at least three 1860's projects I need to work on, plenty of time, and I spend more time theorizing than actually doing. Actually, to be honest, I do  have a legitimate excuse of each one. I lack measurements, I need measurements, and I need "someone" to be fitted. But the theorizing part is true. I frequently enough find myself day-dreaming over a project rather than actually getting started. Or working on it. I have two film projects in the works and both are moving like a snail on a cold day. Like I said earlier, I bored with no reason to be bored. At the moment, I'm feeling a little blue too--which could be because it's overcast and I'm chilly at the extremities...and I feel bored. (Man. I haven't used that word this much in a long time.) Even the Sousa Marches playing in the other room don't have me marching in time very hard. Unusual, for I love a march. 

Well, the "itch" was not supposed to be a complaining session, though it sure looks like it turned out that way. So--let me cast back over some more cheerful things. I have managed over the past few weeks to bring my Etsy inventory up to nearly 140 listings (with more to go). While I haven't made any sales this week, I have had eight in the last 30 days (which is better than this time last year by a long shot!), with just three of those last week. Funny how sales seem to come in spurts. I won't sell anything for a bit and then, wham! I have anywhere from 2-5 sales in 7-10 days. 

I have started learning German. Yes, I have. So far, it's not been too horrid of a learning curve. I do better understanding it than speaking it and I have been surprised that the spelling has been less of a hitch in my get along than I expected. I really do not have a good logical explanation as to why I decided to tackle German, but it had something to do with wanting to eavesdrop on the German WWII reenactors at RWWII this year and seeing how much Deutsche they actually speak. :D Oh yes, such an admirable reason to learn a language!

I've also been "bugging" Katherine to pick her French back up and she actually has started this week. German makes more sense to me than French (in the listening). I can't quite get my crooked teeth around French pronunciation either. I butcher the poor language. Look out world--the daily Southern, American English speech of this house is going to be seeing an uptake in quad-lingualness. (Quad: English, Spanish, French, and German. We all know at least un poco Espanol. We all know a little Deutsche, and I will even confess to understanding a wee bit of French. Let's not even mention the various British, Irish, and Scottish accents that we attempt to bandy about...though if I may, my Irish accent is better than Daddy's Brooklyn. :D)

I am going to need to go haul wood from the fuel room into the furnace room here in a few minutes, so perhaps I ought to leave you with that humorous note. Or I could say, "I'm hungry" (Ich habe Hunger) which for those of you quite familiar with me, might make you laugh even harder. So there. Since when am I not hungry at 6 0'clock pm?

​Auf widersehen! 

P.S. I am slightly wary about how my name is going to sound in German....

Every now and again, life throws you a curve-ball. Sometimes, we react badly...pout, whine, cry, get mad...you name it. Other times we take things calmly with grace. Then, there are those times we simply don't care--so much so that it makes us wonder if we're really okay, knowing that in general we'd be very disappointed as our expectations crumble about our ears. 

Okay, so maybe you don't react in some of those said ways, but I do. I'm rather in the throes of the third option there.

I've been looking forward to going to the Perryville Civil War reenactment for months. I kind of intended it as my birthday fling and nobody needed to feel obliged to give me anything. I was going to go have fun for my birthday.

Well. Lord has other plans I think. 

Ever since getting back from Tennessee, I've not felt too "hep". I had about two good days last week and Sunday was alright, but I've been an absolute drag the rest of the time. Indeed, if you were to see me as I wrote this blog post, you would notice that my eyes are almost half-closed, I'm sitting (er, lounging) sideways in my chair with my head laid on the back and my laptop on the chair's arm. I feel like my face is swollen and I probably look kind of pouty because I'm not making any effort to tighten up my face muscles. 

Anyway, the long and the short of it is--unless I get a wild swing of energy tomorrow (since I would need tomorrow to cobble things together in time to leave on Thursday) and then feel decent on Thursday morning, myself and faithful sidekick Katherine will be staying home. I've pretty much resigned myself to not going and I don't even hardly feel disappointed. Just vaguely. Katherine herself isn't feeling much better and as I sit here, I can see her two unfinished dresses. I pretty much made one of them (though she fix an issue that needed fixing when I took a nose-dive) and the other one has been all her. 

In other, more thrilling news, I have managed to puddle around some today and I'm pleased, in a subdued kind of way, to silently point you to the fact that you can actually see the floor in the front room/sewing room. I even sat on the floor with the vacuum hose and got the majority of the thread up off the carpet. The disheveled wads of material are at least in neater stacks and I got the lid on one of the doll-dress material boxes and reorganized another of them so that their isn't fabric spilling out in all directions. I fixed up my own personal stacks and even threw out some things. 

​Life marches on. And I think I'm going to go get a snack. 

Apparently, from a young age I aspired to keep a hand-written journal and have always had trouble with it. My old green treasure box (actually a diaper wipe box) was brought in from the truck a few days ago and I'm going through it. Inside, I found this green book with gold lettering diagonally across the front proclaiming: Memoranda.

I've been laughing til I cried looking at the entries. My handwriting was awful (I think I may have written a hunk of it in a vehicle, so that didn't help) but my spelling was atrocious!! All original spelling, punctuation, and grammar.

The very first entry was written in by my mother for me:

It appears from that, and many of the subsequent scrawls that this was not only my first attempt at journaling, but also my very first bird-book. Apparently, I was a bird-watcher before we moved to Louisiana and began attending birding club...

I kind of like this entry...it's clear I was somewhat agitated, for my lettering is a little big and bolder than most of the other entries:

I even spelled everything correctly!

Looking at this thing, I find that at age 7, I spelled "saw" correctly part of the time and the other part of the time I spelled it "saol". 

*Nods head wisely*
See, I spelled with a Southern accent!

How about the spelling and capitalization in these? See if you don't laugh. ;)

This next one I actually remember! It was really kinda cool...

I'll NEVER forget this day:

Take a minute and let that one sink in. A month shy of ten, I had an inarticulated fear--of the unknown--but more than that, that my Daddy would be going to War. I didn't write it down, but I remember.

Probably my first attempt at poetry here is next:

Right. I never could write poetry. That poor little thing doesn't even rhyme! (And 'never missed'? I must have had a successful day at the range. Other than that, it was just wishful thinking! :D)

By this point, I was writing some of my entries in cursive...but my spelling was still terrible:

Well, I guess I was on the right track there! I'm going to guess we probably had started catechising by this point...

Alright, I just about couldn't talk laughing over this one:

Too bad you can't see the decoration of the exclamation points...(we had a four foot deep above ground pool in Louisiana. I'll bet this is when we first got it. :D)

Look, more nature observations!

June/July 2002 we visited Grandma and Grandpa in Indiana, taking the Natchez trace up. I have several rather illegible entries from the trip...I'll spare you those. However, this one shows what even grown men will do when faced with a bunch of insects with stingers....

This is varied...

Missy, I feel for you. Your handwriting and spelling was always better than mine. I wonder that you could read those old letters!

Skipping along, this next one is from after we moved to Arizona...

Jimney! I always had a knack for spitting my beverages all over the place!

Anyway, back to birding--my grandparent's came out to see us in early 2004 and that's why Grandpa is mentioned.

I can't remember what the Mexican Jay looked like--but I do remember the Scrub Jays. Bigger, duller, and nosier than our eastern Blue Jay.

In between the previous entry and the following one, my grandmother passed away and we made one trip to Florida in April for her funeral--which we missed. This is several months later...

Looking back, I can see there was actually a LOT of damage in our little town, but our places were blessed to not have any serious structural damage--just a lot of trees down. In fact, you can still see Hurricane Charlie damage 12 years later.

​The next one cracked me up...

Oh really? Anyway...I think this was probably the day that Daddy fell and sprained his ankle really bad and Mom and Savannah hiked back up the trail at top speed to go get the truck--and Katherine and I wandered in the ruins by ourselves pretending and talking about the Apaches...(I don't know about you, but I kinda made my own hair stand on end a little bit).

There are only two more entries: One in 2007 and one in 2009. Neither are amusing, so I won't share them. 

I wonder, should I start carrying this little green book about again in one of the vehicles to scribble in, or should I just put it back?

Either way, I think I had better finish this job I started (cleaning my desk again)...

Or "Why I cannot engage in Civil War debates".

After a VERY long hiatus, in which I had completely forgotten the existence of the forums, I returned this week to CivilWarTalk.com. There is so much information for both historical research and reenactor improvement on there that it is well worth the time spent poking around. BUT. Enter my problem--I cannot engage in the secessionist/slavery debates. Thankfully, there are plenty of other topics I can join in on, but these two--very important issues, I cannot. Why, you ask?

Well, I made two separate comments on two separate threads--one concerning secession and the other concerning Northern slavery. (The secesh thread also had plenty of slavery discussion, too.) I knew better at the time. And I there after, essentially slunk coward-like out of the picture. Why? Because I'm not sure where I stand? No...but for the following reasons.

First, and probably the most glaringly obvious, is that I am #1 probably one of the youngest members of the forums and I hate to come across as an antagonist twit. Well, that actually wasn't what I was going to say, but it's applicable. #2 I am quite obviously not as well read...and therefore less prepared. In addition, when I DO have a "quote" I can never remember where I read it, or where to find it again, etc. In other words, I can't source myself (which I've seen multiple demands of in my short time back in the forums.) It really is a good idea, being able to source oneself. (I just so happen to have the same issue with recalling Bible texts. I can't chapter and verse it even if I can paraphrase accurately.)

To add to this obvious set of problems, I have this one--I have acres of trouble being articulate. Some days it's worse than others (and I'm actually managing okay with this post), but other days I simply cannot for the life of me say exactly what I mean in a way that makes sense. I have leaps and gaps in my logic, of which I am glaringly aware, but I cannot see how to bridge them or articulate the bridge. 

This in and of itself is enough motivation for me to keep my trap shut in conversations that have a tendency to turn ugly. (Besides which, they are just exercises in rhetoric unless you really do have uncertain persons engaged or reading them. But once you've reached your conclusions--it's a waste of time to ARGUE the point. Not that I think it's really a waste of time to read them and thereby understand the other opinions thinking.)

But, my second point is really the one that propels me to stay out--and really makes me wonder how much of a coward I am. I'm a fool for getting into something unprepared, but am I a coward because I stay out due to my second issue? Tell me honestly what you think.

My second issue is as follows: I come to history, as with any other area of life, with a self-consciously Christian perspective. I want to look at everything through the lens of Scripture...and this includes history and those "sticky" issues--like slavery. 

I understand that at least part of the cause behind the War Between the States was theological--but once again, I cannot speak of it because I lack the depth of understanding I hope to someday have. But because I come to it from a "what does the Bible have to say about this" point of view, it makes it awkward at the very least to address a bunch of probably non-Christian, or at least minimal Christians. I am fairly sure that I would be attacked by a particular member who shows all signs of being socialistic. 

So, am I a coward because I won't go into a discussion, on slavery for example, and say, "According to the Bible, slavery, in and off itself is not a moral wrong. There are specification for proper treatment of slaves and whenever those are broken then it becomes morally wrong, but the simple act of owning a slave does not make you a sinner." Like I said in a previous post, I have not yet determined how much of Southern slavery was down-right wrong. 

*EXPLOSIONS*

And what could I do? Sit there and take it and feel smug because I think I have the Bible on my side? (Not that I would feel smug; I'm not built that way.) Perhaps in a one-on-one conversation...but not in a group setting. I don't see HOW getting myself in on something like that would be a good witness--no matter if I'm right (which I could be wrong) for very, very, VERY few people would think that I was and would thereby think they had excuses to lambast Christians. Plain and simply, I think picking other hills to die on is a whole lot more, well, wise--and useful. So, I will read. I will watch. I will listen. I will learn.

And by the way, I've noticed that the seceshes, like me, drop out of the conversations sooner. Maybe it's because we know we can't force people into our way of thinking and that we are a minority (THANK-YOU Government Education!) and it's really not worth our time banging away at a wall of abolitionist thinking.

Anyway...there is my explanation of why I solemnly resolve to keep my nose clean. I won't promise, because I may slip up....but I resolve to stay out of these kinds of explosive conversations, from here on out. Well, at least until I'm a bit more learned.... ;)  

I was setting the table for lunch when I noticed a sheet of paper on my desk that hadn't been there earlier. You might ask me how I knew it wasn't there earlier when my desk is covered in a variety of papers...but that's doesn't really go with this story. Anyway, the headline caught my eye.

No arrests made in triple murder near Lakeport

Shamefully, I don't really know exactly where Lakeport is located, but I've done enough poking around in Florida history for the past five years that I immediately recognized the name. I picked up the paper and suddenly realized that it was a newspaper article from 1933.  I wondered why Daddy (for it was he) had put the article on my desk, so I sat down and read it. 

The first two paragraphs tell of three men, all between the ages of 27 and 28, one of whom was named Lincoln Widden (the Widden's were Confederate, so his  parent's obviously had a little Yankee brainwashing or it was a family name--'scuse the commentary), who were murdered...probably by more than one person since the weapons used in the murder were clearly identified as a shotgun, pistol, and high powered rifle. All things those Florida cattlemen would have been carrying for protection against wild animals--of all sorts. (Florida was still a rough place.)

So I kept reading...and the third paragraph suddenly blared my great-grandfather's name in my face. Oh. 

The elder brother of one of the murdered men had been similarly ambushed and wounded three years prior...and had accused my great-grandfather of the deed. Senior was arrested but later released after he put forth a perfect alibi and was not indicted.

I had heard of the murder accusation before, but I'd never seen it in print. Which brings up the following  thoughts.

My great-granddad died when Granddaddy was only three, so he never really knew him. It's kind of hard to access what kind of a man he really was, but there are two opinions on the man--two very stark contrasts. People either loved him--or hated his guts...decades after his death.

Daddy tells a story of when he was a teenager, a little old lady came across the street while he was mowing, and gave him a piece of her mind about his granddaddy.

Savannah met a man a couple years ago who told her a tale of how great-granddaddy saved his granddaddy's life during the depression. That family loves the memory of a man who remains a mystery to me.

Naturally, as he is my ancestor, I like to think the better of him. I know that the Methodist church down there has my granddad and his sister's names in the windows--paid for my their father. He is said to be one of the deputized men who took down the Ashley Gang (I forget what they were guilty of). 

On the one hand you hear stories of his compassion...on the other of his cattle baron orneriness of running his cattle through town purposefully after they told him to circuit them around to the rail-head.

Now, I know that the truth probably lays somewhere's down the middle. He was a man. Probably for the most part a good man--but likely with a streak of alligator. 

Was he an actual believer? I have no idea. I'd like to believe that I'll someday meet my great-granddad in heaven. But anyway, the rough, tumultuous history of my dad's side of the family just stands to prove that God can pull any kind of family out of the blackness and bring them into the light of the Gospel.

Uncle Hooker is said to have hung a man from a wagon tongue for killing a beef during the depression. The man was hungry. 

There is at least one woodscolt in the family tree and I suspect that the rumor that a certain member up the line died of an botched abortion is true. So, I guess the question remains--was my great-grandfather a murderer? Or at least, an attempted-murderer?

It's humbling, one's beginnings...for without the flawed people before us we would never exist. It's also very fascinating. Someday I may decide to write a semi-biographical tale concerning several generations of pioneers, soldiers, and cattlemen...I don't know if I'm big enough for the task, but it sure would be an intriguing research project if nothing else........

Because a man did not live I am writing this today. Because this man had a friend who told his granddaughter a story I am writing this today. Because this man's friend's granddaughter was raised to respect and honour those who went before her and had, over the years, developed a keen interest in the history of her grandfather's generation, I am writing this today.

My grandpa told me a story. A story about an old high school friend of his who did not live to see victory over the Axis during WWII. The story went something along these lines:

Shorty's real name was Walter M. Clevenger. Rank Technical Sergeant. But there is more.

Grandpa's story is not the real story. It isn't overly surprising really, because at the time Shorty died, Grandpa was quite likely in basic himself and as things get passed along a grapevine, the story often morphs. 

Last night, I found the truth. Accidentally. I cannot remember the course of events that led me to revisit Shorty, but in doing so, I stumbled upon the truth.

Shorty was in the 359th Bomb Squadron, 303rd Bomb Group, 8th Air Force, stationed in England. He was one of ten crewmen on a B-17F, the "Yahoodi"--AAF serial #41-24608. He wasn't the ball turret gunner--that was a fellow by the name of S/Sgt. Leif H. Hoklin who did survive. Rather, Shorty was the radio operator. 

Two days before, on January 1, 1943, Shorty had turned 21. On January 3rd, while on a bombing run (the target of which was St. Nazaire, France), whether to or from I do not know, the Yahoodi took enemy fire and was hit. Using the coordinates found in the records, I discovered that they went down in the sea south of Brittany. The records aren't overly profuse or informative, but enough to paint a picture of an ack-ack attack, engines knocked out, and a crew of ten headed straight into the ocean, the wind whistling through the fuselage. I wonder how many of them were already dead. Or how terrified they were. 

I know the picture isn't very big...or very clear, but thanks to someone else's research I know the identity of a couple of the men. Shorty I guessed correctly before I found proof. He's second from left in the front. The rest of the crew are as follows: 1st Lt. Frank A. Saunders (Pilot; POW), 2nd Lt. Leonard W. Kirk (Co-Pilot; KIA; second from left, back row); 2nd Lt. Oscar F. Forester (Navigator; POW); 2nd Lt. Norman Kossis (Bombardier; KIA; far right, back row); S/Sgt. Llyod E. Wagner (Engineer/Top Turret Gunner; KIA; third from right, front row); Sgt. Rufus C. Litton (Left Waist Gunner; KIA); S/Sgt. Russell O. Chitwood (Right Waist Gunner; KIA); S/Sgt. Leif H. Hoklin (Ball Turret Gunner; POW), and Sgt. Howard A. High (Tail Gunner; KIA).

Shorty, age 21, died during that bombing run on January 3rd, 1943. He wasn't married. I don't even know if he had a girlfriend. He died and I never knew him--but he is not forgotten. He may have never had any children...but I'll stand in for those unborn children and grandchildren and claim him as one of my own. This is for Shorty.

Because T/Sgt. Walter M. Clevenger did not live I write this. I will someday tell my own children about him so that he will not be forgotten.

In Memoriam,