home again

I was nervous to see Iseminger Street in all its narrow and dirty glory upon returning home. I fretted over the right homecoming song all the way down the Schuylkill. And then I saw the city skyline rise over the horizon and I was so glad to be here. I'll always be in love with the open road and the wooded mountains, but I know where home is in the end.

Appomattox

Ever since I took an interest in Lincoln and the Civil War, maybe ever since that first day in William Gillette's American History survey class when he gave that impassioned lecture on Lincoln, I have maintained that the war was not fought over slavery. And I don't need any more proof after today, visiting the McLean house at Appomattox. No one ever mentions in the accounts of the surrender the slaves living in Wilbur McLean's backyard. I never knew until today. And I wondered idly, looking through the doors of the slave quarters, whether any member of General Grant's staff laid eyes on those slaves, maybe even looked at them. And I wondered if those slaves had a party after Lee left in defeat. And it suddenly occurred to me that the Union soldiers didn't fight and die to free the slaves, and the Confederate soldiers didn't fight and die to keep them in bondage. Because if they had, surely there would exist historical documentation of the slaves present at the defeat. And my eyes filled up with tears and I had to walk away. I know it sounds dramatic, but what a lie this country has thrived on. The price of democracy defended. What a terrible thing we do as a nation.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, TN

I got an honest-to-god campfire tonight, and on my very first try. I think I have it down now. I also think it doesn't help that the first two nights I didn't have very good wood. First night it was all big thick logs and second night, skinny little sticks. I guess I know now what camp axes are for. Probably more all-around useful than a camp saw anyway.

So I discovered today that I hate the Great Smoky Mountains. I got myself stuck on a scenic loop and good god! are there a lot of cars. Everyone driving five fucking miles an hour in a great long line. Who knew I could get road rage in the middle of nature like that? Oh but I did. And then the ranger lady was so stern and unpleasant, and the camp sites are stacked one on top of the next with no grass and just skinny sticks of trees scattered around in between. Lucky enough I got a campsite that, although it's right next to the parking lot and so besot with car traffic, I have no neighbors. All of the campsites adjacent and even caddy-corner to mine are vacant for the night. For now, anyway, though it's already after eight and I can't imagine too many people are yet to come.

And then this morning. I went to the reenactment, though I didn't stay for the actual battle. But I'll let the pictures of that speak for themselves.

Cloud Canyon, morning

Set my alarm for six am and for the first time in three days, I actually got up when it went off. When I emerged from the tent 15 minutes later, I had to check the time again, on my phone and on my watch, because the sky was barely a shade lighter than it had been when I went to sleep, and the moon was fully shining overhead. And no birds sang. It wasn't until just before I opened this book to write that I realized I'm on the far end of the time zone. The sun rises later a few hundred miles west of home.

Cloud Canyon State Park, GA

After this morning's treacherous hike up from the bottom of the gully back to the car, I was wary of tonight's campsite, being my second hike-in. But it's only a walk-in which means a flat and easy path from the car, no more than thirty or so yards away. Last night I think that must be what they call back-country camping. After I let the fire go out I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me, even with the lantern. And tonight I even got my fire started on the first try, though I still can't figure out how to make it big like a real campfire. I just need enough heat to cook my dinner and enough light to keep me company. Though I do keep trying, don't I?

Today I passed out of South Carolina. It made me sad because I liked South Carolina, though I don't know that South Carolina liked me very much. Gas shortage along Route 11 terrified me. All the pumps had plastic bags on the handles to indicate they were dry. At somewhere well below a quarter tank I found a station that was rationing and would sell me twenty bucks worth.


And so I made it to Georgia. I decided to veer off my itinerary today. I wanted to pass through Commerce, the town Cold Sassy Tree was based on. I was shocked no one there could tell me anything about it. I tried the gift-shop, the antique store, and the library. From the website I remembered the Civic Center was Grandpa Blakeslee's store, so I took a picture of it, and fell in love with the ladies in the antique store, but that was all I got out of that stop. That and the half-thought-out idea I should take back roads the rest of the way to Chickamauga. Needless to say I didn't make it to Chickamauga today. I didn't get lost either, but meandering along back roads sure does pass time. In Georgia, I've found, at every curve in the road there's a Baptist Church. I have never in my life seen so many Baptist churches. There are also yard sales at every house on the highway, countless autobody shops and fireworks emporiums. And pickup trucks. I don't mean to sound cliché but I'd venture to guess two out of every three cars I've seen today have been either pickups or SUVs.

I wish I had something insightful or profound to say but I don't. Poppy keeps asking if I'm having fun, and I keep telling him yes, but I'm not really. Though fun wasn't what I came down here looking for. Neither was profound or insightful for that matter. So many people are so interested in this trip of mine, and I don't want to let them down, but I don't think I'm coming home with much to say. I've found peace and quiet and that's what I was looking for. I've found a lack of fear and I've found endless roads, and I've found that I'm worthless at starting fires. And I haven't washed my hair in four days and I stink to high heaven of Deet and sweat and campfire, and I'm so content to find there is so very little I need.

Caesar's Head State Park, South Carolina

Funny how out here alone in the woods, dark feels like bedtime, even if it's only eight at night. A little family passed me on the trail back when it was still fully light and I was only just starting to try to build my fire. It took so long to build it tonight that I stopped to cry for a little while. Tonight would have been too scary without a fire. It's a treacherous hike back to the car. Tomorrow morning is going to suck. It'll be all uphill and with all that shit on my back. Then too the promise of wild animals. The park ranger lady there are bears but they've never had trouble with them. She said to hang the food though to keep it from the raccoons and skunks. And so I was afraid that if I didn't get my fire going by dark, I'd have wild animals everywhere. I did get it started though, small as it is, and I cooked my soup in it, so I had my first hot meal. The fire didn't keep the creepy crawlers away though, so I'm in the tent now. And I feel surprisingly safe tonight. I keep remembering Borge Ousland: Ghosts are in the city, not in nature. The one place I should be afraid, in all of this, and I'm not.

Alamance County Rest Stop, North Carolina

I just saw a man in an Obama t-shirt, so I thought I'd go ask him how it's looking down here. He said he's from Virginia, and Obama has decent support there. He said he knows it's much stronger in the Carolinas.

Driving is exhausting. I'm glad I went this way. I've only been on the road two and a half or so hours yet today and already I am freaking exhausted. Can't imagine if I'd have tried to do this at the end.

This morning I got gas at a station run by two middle-aged or so women, well coiffed for gas station attendants. Gossiping with a customer. Didn't say "boo" to me. Of course, I didn't say boo to them either because I'm suddenly terrified of Southerners. And I passed a small shack of a store on Beach Road in Virginia, the sign outside of which read, "Cigarettes. Ice Cream. Computer Repair Diagnostics." No lie.

Pocahontas State Park, VA

Had lukewarm beans and Ritz crackers tonight because I have no confidence in my fire. Lord help me I hope i get better at it. Had the tent up, stakes and all, in just under ten minutes. But it took me close to two hours to get the fire started. It's a weak little fire, smoky as hell and full of charcoal. That's what I can do. I can't get wood to burn, apparently, but I can turn it into charcoal like nobody's business.

I learned today that I don't like Richmond. It's a junkie little city. It seems barren: the streets are too wide for the number of people on them. Granted, I was only in the downtown area, but on a weekday afternoon, it just didn't seem right. The old man behind the visitor's desk at the Confederate Museum was appropriately cranky for his position. When I asked for directions to Tredegar, he seemed mildly offended, explained that since National Park Services moved in, their take on the war is "much different than ours." Then he asked where I was from, and when I told him Philadelphia, his manner seemed to get a little more curt still. and when I asked if i could walk there, he said sternly, "No. It's too far. And it's all downhill."

He was right about the Civil War Center at Tredegar. The Confederate Museum was warm and old; the Civil War Center was big and echoed too much; it smelled new and was full of video reels. You can tell it was built for schoolkids, and it was full of Northerners like me. The Confederate Museum had a decidedly Southern tilt, not unwelcome and not unexpected, but it made me feel a little like a damn Yankee. I heard and old lady giggle appreciatively when she read aloud that General Gordon became the first Grand Dragon of the KKK; I heard another ask her husband if "Union" means "North." He told her yes, and added firmly, "the War of Northern Aggression!"

I think in Virginia, judging from my view of the state from its northern highways, the Civil War and the Confederacy so surround the people that it shouldn't be startling to hear it called the War of Northern Aggression. Driving down I95, you pass Chancellorsville and Spotsylvania. There's a state highway named for Lee and one named for Jeff Davis. and a shrine to Stonewall Jackson. Shrine, not monument. That's deification of the best sort.

I wonder if I can go much further south than this without feeling grateful for Poppy's pepperspray.

and now the nerves

I'm procrastinating going to sleep tonight. I'm not ready to count in hours instead of days. I love the way I feel just before leaving for a trip. I feel like I'm not really going anywhere at all but just playing make-believe. And at the same time, I feel like I'm leaving forever. I look at all the buildings in the city like I'm saying goodbye, like I still haven't loved them enough to leave them yet. I appreciate them more. I appreciate the starkness of the sidewalks unbroken by trees. I fall in love with the aesthetics of the neighborhood, tops of houses against a startlingly unstriking sky. The smallness and the concrete. And I wonder how much I'll miss it while I'm gone.

thursday is almost here

It's just over three days now. I have everything I need, and I'm starting to collect it in a big pile for packing on the livingroom floor. Tonight I go grocery shopping. I would be lying if I said I wasn't getting nervous.

stonewall

I watched a History Channel DVD about Stonewall Jackson last night. One of the talking head historians noted that when Jackson met his first wife, he was in his early thirties. She was the daughter of some colleague of his and they formed a fast friendship, but he didn't realize he was in love. One of his friends had to explain it to him, that the pains he was feeling whenever he was near her were the pains of falling in love. Can you imagine a man so simple, so serious and so stoic that he doesn't know when he's falling in love? And yet, when I think back on all I've read, Jackson is the only Civil War era general of whose personal life is so rarely written. His life was military. His life was war and battle and artillery. I think we cannot imagine such a man in the modern world.

are we there yet?

With a week and a half to go, I'm starting to get nervous and antsy. For starters, things have been so busy at work and then so internally politically stressful, there hasn't been time to start downloading and printing all the directions. And of course with Matt and his internet gone, and the neighbor's wireless signal sporadic at best, I can't very well do much of it here at home either. I also realized practically last minute, thanks to Ali, that I should put together a list of hotels near my campsites in case of weather so bad I don't have the heart to brave it. Afterall, it is hurricane season down there, and though I'll be mostly pretty far inland, I should definitely have a backup plan. And then there's supplies. Is there anything I haven't thought of that I still might need? Are there any teeny details I've not worked out? I made it up to EMS last Thursday, bought the lantern I wanted and a length of rope thanks to Dan my EMS hiking guru. I've made my packing lists. I think I've thought of everything.

In Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck wrote of the anticipation of leaving for a trip. He wrote, "In long-range planning for a trip, I think there is a private conviction that it won't happen." I'm near enough now to my departure that I'm beginning to feel it fully. So I try not to imagine the trip as a whole; rather, I keep imagining driving out of South Philly, headed for I95 South with a car full of a week's worth in supplies.

I know it's not the most magnanimous trip man has ever taken. I know it's not the most adventuresome or the most foreign destination. I've watched Sara take off for India so many times, for example. I've listened to people's stories of Africa; I've watched documentaries about Africans coming to America; I've read about Arctic explorers and ancient seafaring pilgrims; desert caravans; The Heart of Darkness; the horror. But it's the most magnanimous trip I've ever taken. And that's enough to shake me up and give me gooseflesh. It's just a personal challenge. And I'm taking it fully seriously and respecting it for exactly what it is.

two weeks to go

Last night I burned Cold Sassy Tree onto 11 discs. I had downloaded it from emusic several months ago, and realized when I started planning this trip that it might be the perfect soundtrack for when I'm driving and tired of singing. It's my favorite book of all time; I'd guess I've read it cover to cover at least six or seven times, and re-read favorite chapters many more times still. It's the story of a 14 year-old boy growing up in rural Georgia in 1906. The author, Olive Ann Burns, strung together the stories of her father's childhood, and his stories of his own grandfather's scandalous second marriage. It's a pure and simple story, somewhat a coming of age story, though really more a photograph of a very particular time and place, of a small town in the South just before modernity barreled through. I have always loved it for its innocence, for its wide open spaces and its simple but profound ideas. One philosophy of the book has grown into me and become my own, and been a comfort to me in hard times and a safe place when I'm afraid. But I'll save that for another day.

Last night, too, I wrote a preliminary packing list. Sweet jesus I'm going to fill that car up. It's hard to figure the necessities when facing a week of camping and solitude and as yet uncertain weather. I'll need books and a journal and music for certain. I realized with a start over dinner last night that I probably won't drink a single beer for a whole week, but then too I won't have to do my hair or makeup or even shave. I can bring the most basic cloths: my army shorts, a dozen t-shirts and socks and underwear. I don't have to figure whether I should bring any dresses or a good pair of jeans or anything nice at all. But all that gets replaced with first aid kits and extra pairs of shoes and bug spray and rain gear and extra layers in case it's cold at night in the mountains.

And food. This is hard to figure, food. I don't want to bring any cooking gear, so the first thing to go is my percolator and coffee grounds. I'll bring a small cooler in case, but I don't plan on bringing anything perishable, so it's cans and potatoes to cook in the fire, granola, trail mix, dried fruit, crackers, and gallons and gallons of tepid water and juice. I'm hoping to try some Southern delicacies, and I hope I can find them off the highways: warm biscuits and country fried meats and greens and maybe even a taste of sweetmilk. It's not that I want to be dependent on food I have to stop to buy along the way—and I sure as hell don't plan on a single crumb of fast food, coffee excepted of course—but I don't want to miss any chances to taste real Southern cooking either. In my Yankee fantasies, it's savory and hearty and piping hot.

So. Next steps: one final trip to EMS for the last of my needed supplies, and then it's maps and directions enough to find my way blind.

sunday status

I can't believe this thing is creeping up on me so quickly! I have to download maps and print directions, and I have to start coming up with a packing list. And I've barely made it halfway through The Whirlwind of War, because stupid work keeps me so damn busy this month, the bastards.

But I'm determined to make it to EMS or REI sometime this week for my lantern. And this weekend, I received two gifts to help me on my way. Poppy, of course, bought me some scary pepper spray covered in instructions and warning notices, and while it scares me to death to carry a such a thing on my person, I'll do it for safety and I'll do it for Poppy too. And then last night a very thoughtful friend gave me some waterproof matches he'd picked up for me. I can't tell you how tickled I was to receive them. (Thanks.)

Now off to work so I can go home and read the rest of the day away. It's amazing what personal feelings I'm developing for old dead men like U.S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman. I love when I feel an affection for an historical figure, because they were all just people, afterall, not myths or legends. They didn't have scripts to follow and they didn't know how everything would come out in the end. They were just people doing the things they knew they ought to do, sometimes getting distressed and sometimes making mistakes, and they loved their wives and they fought among themselves and sometimes they lost their tempers and sometimes they cried and sometimes they were afraid, both of what the world put before them, and of what they found inside themselves. And I love them for it. I really, really do.

moon phases

Last night I was sitting in the backyard, late, and I noticed a strange light falling across my rose bush. I stood and looked over the garden wall to see where it was coming from, and saw it was the moon, very big, hanging low over McKean Street, just beginning to wane.

I'm leaving a month from today, which is thirty-one days. This means I'll be traveling under a waning moon. It will be bright at first, and it will pass the half-moon mark while I'm still in the South. This is good. Better than leaving under a half-moon, leaving the sky dark by the time I hit the Great Smoky Mountains. My first hike-in night, alone in the woods without a car to hide in or people camping near enough to see, will be lit by a three-quarter moon. I'm camping on a stream that night, which means it's possible there won't be full tree coverage and I'll have some natural light to keep me company. If I'm really lucky, some of that moonlight will reflect off the water too.

That's the night I'm afraid of. That's the night that will determine what I've got holding on to me from the inside. I'm afraid of weather and wildlife, but more than that, I'm afraid of being afraid. But I know that it's not dislocating fear that makes a person brave; it's facing fear and living through it. I feel pretty confident. Afterall this is what I want. Time alone with no one to talk to, no one asking me to make a decision, or to account for myself. Just the night air, and the quiet. And if I can find that, and if I can enjoy it, everything else will be pie.

military history

I know, as soon as I said I was going to post more often, I hit a 60-odd hour workweek and couldn't find the time to read, much less post. Hopefully this week will calm down a little. Afterall, it's a month tomorrow that I push off.

Before I started planning this trip, most of what I knew of the war was political. I knew Lincoln and his administration, I knew the series of failed Congressional compromises and the shifting of the major parties that led to secession and war. I knew the political strategies Lincoln employed in conducting the war. And I knew some of the economic and international considerations both the Union government and that of the Confederacy had to take into account.

And to be sure, I knew Grant, McClellan, Sherman and Lee and Jackson. But I didn't know what they did. And though I knew it was considered the first modern war due to its timing at the birth of the Industrial Revolution, I didn't know what that meant. Now, through Ken Burns and Shelby Foote and Stephen Oates, I'm starting to understand the military operations of the war, the way it was conducted, the maneuvers, and the people who fought it.

Ever since college I've studied American history from Washington and the homefront. I've been intrigued by war, but only by the personal narrative of the grunt because it's social and cultural history that I fall for, which is afterall only the collective personal history of the everyman. I follow the most basic movements in Washington insofar as they have effect on the average American's life. And I follow war because it moves people and it changes the way people live and the things they live for. Recently I decided that studying the history of American wars from a military standpoint might be interesting and provide new perspective. I decided to start with this war, the Civil War, because it's the war I know best to begin. And it is interesting, afterall. It's terrifying and it's fascinating and although it's very technical, it's also much more personal than I'd imagined it would be. To understand a man's battle strategy is to understand his nature. These commanders are a study in everything that is human about a human being, everything base and everything academic. Robert E. Lee, for example, grieved every death in his army but never ceased to throw more divisions into the front, even as the odds were most often against him. If that doesn't encompass the full breadth of human capability, instinct, emotion, and intellect all working together, then I don't know what does.

kinship of war

Big sap that I am, I cry at everything, romantic comedies, old sitcom reruns, the newspaper, you name it. But in eight hours of Ken Burns, I didn't shed a single tear. Not even when Sam Waterston read the Gettysburg Address, which by all rights should have put me over the edge. And then in the final hour, I got overwhelmed. It seems when William Tecumseh Sherman died, in the winter of 1891, General Joseph E. Johnston, against whom Sherman had fought his way through the South, was a pallbearer in his funeral. It caught me off-guard how immediately I got choked up at that fact. I wonder how the souls of men become entwined when, without knowing each other, they fight each other in battle, track each other and try to anticipate the other's next movement. It must be a bond like no other, terrifying that war could make men know their opponents so intimately that they would carry each other into death, even years after peace has broken.

the whirlwind of war and other details

I've started reading The Whirlwind of War. It's oddly compelling for a historic record, although I supposed it might fall more under the category of fictionalized history than nonfiction. Stephen B. Oates writes the war from Sumter to Appomattox using nine first person narrators, including Lincoln, Lee, Sherman and other key players. He uses as many of their own words as possible, drawing from primary and secondary sources, in order to make his characterizations as authentic as possible. I finished the first fifty or so pages in the park this morning, and I'm surprised to report that it's a page turner, almost as much so as Gore Vidal's Lincoln.

In other news, I think I've fixed the settings so you can comment without signing up for a Google account. And despite musings to the contrary, I swear to you I will not fall in love with a reenactor on this trip, nor will the trip cause me to become one (thank you very much, Tom and Jack). And I'll try to post more often so I will never again have to hear the words "your blog is boring."

chickamauga

My ticket for the Battle of Chickamauga arrived today. I tried to order it online, but the server didn't seem secure, so I called. The ticket that came in the mail today was accompanied by a receipt that had been printed out from their website. This means they fed my credit card number into the internet despite my hesitancy to do so. Drat the modern age.

The other day I watched the Ken Burns' episode about the Battle of Chickamauga. It was a Southern victory, avenged by the Union at Chattanooga a few days later. It was after the tide of the war turned, and a minor battle at best, but still, I'm excited to see it. I want to hear the rebel yell. Shelby Foote reports that historians don't know to this day exactly what the rebel yell actually sounded like, but I'm sure some of those Southern reenactors must have some reckoning. All contemporary accounts report it curdled the blood and stiffened the spine and I wonder whether outside the terror of the real Civil War, if that could be anywhere near possible.

on solitude and nature

I just posted this on my other blog, but I think it's worth posting here too. This trip is about learning more about the Civil War and about exploring a small piece of the American South, but it's about something else too. I think these words, written by an Arctic explorer named Børge Ousland, say it best. I've edited it down a bit for the sake of length.

I often use nature as a form of meditation; or in other words, to set the counter back to zero in order to get more vitality and energy.

Nature gives me a sanctuary where I can collect my thoughts.

Jan Frode expresses in words how important outdoor life and physical activity is for mental health, especially for people struggling to overcome fear or depression.

I do not venture outdoors to find solutions to problems or to mull over things. On the contrary, that would be the wrong focus. When the objective of the trip is relaxation, inner peace and balance, the secret is to think about as little as possible. Instead I will concentrate on what I experience around me such as colors, forms, smells, sounds and animal life. I often walk away from the trail, use all my senses and absorb what I am experiencing. I like to call it a “fill up.”

...It is common sense not to go alone on treks in the mountains. This is understandable since there would not be anyone there to help if an accident should happen. However, to place yourself in a vulnerable position where everything depends on you and your own choices can also be valuable. You can get a better dialog with nature when nobody else is there and therefore also a better dialog with yourself.

...Prepare yourself, buy suitable maps, make a plan and then follow it. Visit new places and gradually increase the distance covered for each trip. Don’t think too far ahead in time. Make short-term goals, concentrate on simple things at start and take it from there. Perhaps you should take a friend with you, but don’t be afraid to go alone. Ghosts are in the city, not in nature.

...The strong sides of a person are cultivated in our society and it is easy to forget that humans have both strong and weak sides. This is what makes us whole humans and the two sides should be in balance and harmony with each other. Here is where nature can be of help. I am quite certain that if mental health treatments in this country consisted of more hikes, more wood chopping and less popping of pills, many patients would often have different and much better days.

Greetings from Børge.

status

I ordered my tent this morning. I chose the Marmot Limelight 2P. It's lightweight and packs small, 32 square foot floor area, bright orange, plenty of ventilation, and has a decent sized vestibule. It comes with the footprint and gearloft included, so that's a pretty good deal. I also ordered a small camp pillow and a travel towel, and on an impulse I bought a red hoodie that was on sale for ten bucks.

I also called in and ordered my two-day pass for the Battle of Chickamauga this morning. So that's that.

All I need now is a car.

tents tents and tents

jesus Christmas! I had no idea researching a tent would be so much work. There are only one hundred thousand features to consider and one hundred million tents to choose from. I've never bought a tent before and I want a tent that's going to do me for the future, not just this trip. Who's got help? (Jack I'm looking in your general direction here....)

what do other people think? well, i'll tell ya....

I've decided the third draft of the itinerary is the final draft. It cuts a few sites from the original two drafts, but there are many pros. I have more time at each site, only two days are scheduled for more than one site, I have plenty of time to check in and set up at each campground, and my last day is flexible: I can spend as little or as much time at Gettysburg as I please, which means I can get home to Phila as early or late as I feel like. And anyway, I've reserved all my campsites. Four state parks and two national. Two mountain ranges. Five states in six nights. Not bad.

I'm getting a wide variety of reactions from people when I tell them about this trip. My dad, the only person on earth I thought would think it was the greatest idea ever, well he doesn't seem to be much into it at all. Last spring I told him I thought I might take a trip to Istanbul, an idea to which he was vehemently opposed. When I told him about this trip, he said, "Can't you do something safer? Maybe you could go to Turkey." At least three people so far asked if they can come with, and one guy at work asked if he could film it (a drunken notion, therefore not quite a serious one). A woman I work with from the Pennsylvania Department of Tourism told me to take notes and seemed disappointed when I told her only one stop would be here in our fine state. Another woman at work, a younger woman, told me I'd better take a man along because she couldn't figure any other reason I'd go camping in the mountains for a week. The South Philly broads took some rather bawdy bets on whether I'd shack up for a night with a Southern gentleman, and Jack predicts I'll fall in love with a reenactor (he has a whole backstory for this scenario but it's just too much to go into here).

The best, though, are the two reactions I got from friends I didn't tell about it, friends who found it here on Blogger or maybe on Facebook. Tom Alberty said it was exactly the kind of trip he'd take if he had the "time, logistical wherewithal, and general camping savvy... say, didn't he command a Confederate army in Tennessee? General Camping Savvy? Hmmm? Look into that." (Sorry Tom, if you didn't want to be quoted, you shouldn't have put corny jokes in writing.) And Justin Fox linked to this blog on his own blog, Earth Minds Are Weak (check it out, it's pretty damn good, if you like bizarre and graphic independent comics), and titled the link "Bern At War."

So yeah, like I said, keep the feedback coming. I love it. I'm gearing up and I'm excited as hell.

Next steps: supply shopping and packing logistics.


xo

reserved

I made a reservation last night at a campsite in South Carolina that is simply beautiful. It's called Caesar's Head and it's in the Blue Ridge Mountains, which means I get some mountain time afterall. This means I'm really going, or else I'll lose the twelve dollars I put down. Teehee.

another possible itinerary

I'm beginning to think it might be useful to do my trip in the opposite direction. Jack noted that three hours is not enough time to see Gettysburg, in his opinion, and maybe he's right. What's more, I've planned two-three hours on several different battlefields and left the bulk of my driving to the end of the trip. The problem I see with this is that I'm going to get so damned tired by the end, that it could prove almost physically painful to spend the last two days in the car. What I think is maybe if I start by driving down the east coast, the driving will be more of an adventure than a drag. Furthermore if I plan Richmond for the first day instead of the last, I can get all that Confederate history for starters. I also think it might be prudent to cut some drive-time by skipping Fort Sumter altogether. What? Oh, I know. Skipping Sumter puts a giant historic hole in my plan. But maybe another time I can go to Sumter and Savannah and the Blue Mountains all in one shot. So here's the new tentative plan, beginning with Manassas and Richmond and ending in Gettysburg. This gives more leisure to my trip, though I spend a day and a half doing nothing but driving, but it also gives me a day and a half at the battle of Chickamauga and a night in the Great Smoky Mountains too. So here it is, itinerary draft 3.

Looking better.


[REDACTED, at recommendation of Pop]



This gives me two sites in Richmond, two battlefields (Gettysburg and Manassas), one battle (Chattanooga/Chickamauga), two general sites (Appomattox and Harper's Ferry), and two national parks.


Thanks for the feedback, and keep it coming.


xo

itinerary draft 2

Day 1:
depart 6am
arrive gettysburg 9am
depart gettysburg noon
arrive antietam 2pm
depart antietam 5pm
arrive greenbrier 5.30pm
camp

Day 2:
depart greenbrier 7.30am
arrive harper's ferry 8am
depart harper's ferry 10am
arrive manassas noon
depart manasses 3pm
arrive shenandoah 6pm
camp

Day 3:
depart shenandoah 7am
arrive appomattox 10am
depart appomattox 2pm
arrive stone mountain 6pm
camp

Day 4:
depart stone mountain 7am
arrive chickamauga noon
depart chickamauga 4pm
arrive cloudland 4.30pm
camp

Day 5:
depart cloudland 8am
arrive kennesaw 11am
marietta too and maybe commerce
arrive Hard Labor Creek State Park
camp

Day 6:
depart hard labor 8am
arrive ft. sumter 1pm
depart ft. sumter 4pm
arrive next campsite camp

Day 7:
depart campsite 9am
arrive philadelphia xxxafternoon



Okay so I realize it gets shady there at the end, and it also only gives me a few hours at Chickamauga. This all needs to be cleaned up. But it's better than the last one and I'm starting to develop some concept of how freaking long I'm going to be out there, how much driving, how if I don't have my directions all set down or if god forbid I get lost or detoured, I'm going to be a nervous wreck. Maybe I'll skip Kennesaw afterall—the website isn't promising much there and since it's not a real mountain it might not be worth it. Then I could spend an extra morning at Chickamauga, head up to Commerce maybe and then straight over to Sumter. Some of the car rental places offer GPS for an extra thirty bucks a day, which would nearly double my car rental allowance but might be worth it for the assurance of not getting lost. Maybe I'll spend the rest of the night on this, or one more day and then put it away for the weekend. It's a more daunting task than I'd originally imagined.

This whole idea started one day early spring, lunchtime, Sose and I took the bus down to Old City for a walk like we used to do when we worked at Gyro. We stopped in the Book Trader as we always used to, and I went to the travel section searching out books on Costa Rica. I stumbled across two books on the shelf, side by side. One was an ancient paperback, turns out it's a reprint of an even more ancient book, A Military History of the Civil War. The other was a National Geographic travel book on Civil War Battlefields. I knew instantly this would be my summer vacation. It was an inspiration of serendipity. I thought, romantically, that I could take a lazy drive through the middle South, touring the battlefields and then camping out in them. A battlefield a day. I had no idea that you can't actually camp in the battlefields. What a notion! What a mountain of misconception.

Now it's shaping into a challenge of the most personal kind. It seems the history is currently taking backseat to the mental challenge. Planning and plotting routes and researching campsites. And I know once all that's settled, once I've finalized my itinerary and made my car and camp reservations, I'll face a greater challenge still, and that'll be psyching myself up to really do it, really carry through. The planning numbs the reality. I think that will be the hardest part. Because spending a week by myself will be hard too, and I'm sure I'll hit snags and maybe it will rain or maybe a tent pole will break or a bear will come sniffing around my tent, and I expect I'll be exhausted and want to cry and maybe I will cry. But all that, that won't be as hard as getting in the car that first morning and leaving Philadelphia and knowing I'm about to embark on something so simple yet so absurd.

Okay. Back to the books.

Siting campsites

Today is State and National Parks day here at Red Tettemer. Well, here in the back corner of the studio. West Virginia State Parks are pretty frightening, Virginia's website blows, but Georgia has a fantastic DCNR site, almost as good as our Pennsylvania site. At any rate, I've found campsites near most of my stops now and can start looking more realistically at my schedule. I also got my time off "cleared," which means my boss wrote "go for it" in a response to my time off request email, but probably has no idea that he's done so.

In some ways I can't believe I have to wait two whole months to get this thing underway, although, on the other hand, I can't believe I only have two months to plan.

Needs:
a tent (haw!!)
an electric lantern, for reading and writing

Maybe I can add this list to the layout of the blog somewhere.

Oh, and check out the google maps link at the top right. I'm marking off my sites.

georgia

As it turns out, Kennesaw Mountain is not part of any mountain range, nor does it have a campsite in the immediate vicinity. The Blue Mountains are in the North of the state and pretty far out of my way, from Kennesaw to Sumter, so it looks like my night in Georgia will have to spent in a state park on a lake. So much for sleeping in the mountains.

already overwhelmed

I've been doing a little research here and there on sites to visit and drive times and events, but tonight I put together my first draft of an itinerary. Either I'm not going to sleep on this trip, or I'm only going to get to see a handful of sites. I already wish I had more time on this. Tonight's first draft looks like this:

Day 1:
depart 9am
arrive gettysburg noon
depart gettysburg 2pm
arrive antietam 4pm
camp

Day 2:
depart antietam 8am
arrive manassas 10am
depart manassas noon
arrive appomattox 4pm
camp

Day 3:
depart appomattox noon
arrive chickamauga 7pm
camp

Day 4:
chickamauga

Day 5:
depart chickamauga 8am
arrive kennesaw 10am
camp

Day 6:
depart kennesaw 8am
arrive savannah 1pm
camp

Day 7:
depart savannah 9am
arrive ft. sumter noon
depart ft. sumter 2pm

I really want to camp in the mountains of Georgia, thus the entire day spent in Kennesaw. Chickamauga is the reenactment day I've planned in, Manassas is the first battle, Sumter the first shot, and Appomattox of course the end. And I can't possibly skip Gettysburg or Antietam, but I'm going to have to skip something I think.

Car rental is going to cost just under 300. Gas I've hopefully overestimated at about the same. Food is going to consist of the bare basics: granola, trail mix, potatoes, a few cans of soup, and a handful of apples and bananas. A hundred bucks at best. Camping and park fees, another hundred. I think I'm looking at close to a thousand dollars here. Quite an expensive trip, so I'd better make the best of it, see all I can see. This trip I think will teach me well as much in the planning and execution as it will in what I learn about American history and myself.

Ken Burns part 1

First installment of Ken Burns' Civil War documentary. This is the start of my trip, I think. Last week I started trying to read the Military History of the Civil War, but the text is old and I can't follow it without some background. So I started on Ken Burns. And I learned my first new fact. A man named Wilmer McLean owned a farm in Manasses, Virginia, where the First Battle of Bull Run was fought on his property. He moved his family South to Appomattox County, where, four years later, Lee surrendered to Grant in McLean's living room. Ok. I'm ready to get ready for this thing.