off to the races...

For Paul -

Government by Kings was first introduced into the world by the Heathens, from whom the children of Israel copied the custom. It was the most prosperous invention of the Devil ever set on foot for the promotion of idolatry. The Heathens paid divine honours to their deceased Kings, and the Christian World hath improved in the plan by doing the same to their living ones.

Thomas Paine, Common Sense. p.13

happy weekend.

Fiddlin' talk...

Every now and again a neat article is reprinted in Appalachian History -

The language is all high-fancy "not quite over Victoria" early 20th c, but it's still a neat look -

During the 1870s, William Murphy of Greenville, S. C., wandered through these mountains making music every day. He, like Stephen Foster, was regarded as a half-vagabond, but he was tolerated for the pleasure his enchanted violin gave whenever he drew his magic bow across its strings....

More immediately though, it's time to stop looking backwards and enjoy today for a bit. Time for a long weekend in our Alaskan backyard! :)

Later, y'all.

Woobie

So I mentioned finding a blanket not long back to try out the whole old-time camping thing with, right? Well I finally managed to make a tumpline for it last week. Step by step I'm slowly getting all the goodies together.

Simple enough even I can manage it, working mostly from an article here and related stuff online. The leather is plain ol' tooling leather I had left as scrap from... some project or another - treated oldschool style with a mix of neatsfoot oil and beeswax.





First lay the inner cords across the tail end of the folded blankie...


.. rolled into a sausage and tied with extra straps...

.. then the two ends of the inner straps thread through the holes of the keeper on the far side. And...


Voila! One snuggly woobie, ready for carrying (or tossing in the jeep for a road trip.. it's a LONG way between towns up here).

I know it's not as fancy as Loup does it, but I confess to consciously recapitulating the early stages of what those guys who've been doing this old-time woodswalking for the last twenty years used to do.

This more romantic - if less practical - way is kind of appealing, I have to admit. I reckon I'll find out soon enough why these went out of fashion.

Oh, speaking of romantic -




I know, incurable. :p

DAR

Some of you may remember this scene -




It should probably come as no surprise that once upon a time something very similar happened*.

... excepting that at least on this occasion, it was from a house right along Battle Road.

... and it was a chick.

There was a remarkable Heroine, who stood at an House Door firing at the Kings Troops; there being Men within who loaded Guns for her to fire. She was desired to withdraw, but she answered, only by Insults from her own Mouth, & by Balls from the Mouths of her Muskets. This brought on her own Death, & the Deaths of those who were within Doors.

"Origin and Progress of the American Rebellion", Peter Oliver

So um Tams.... family of your'n? :p













==============
*actually, I'm sure it happened lots of times, arms of the period being what they were. But this story is still an interesting example.

By the way - Bellesiles, you're still a putz.

Produce of the Field

Once upon a time in the not so very distant past, a dear friend was kind enough to take me on a tour of a very special place.

He was more patient than I had any right to expect, not raising a bit of complaint as some new sight or another would catch my eye, and I'd scamper off to go get a closer look. Then I caught sight of this scene, and it was irresistible.

This was it. This, here.




It doesn't look like much, does it? I was reminded of nothing so much as a Robert Frost poem, the low line of rock receding into the distance. I hunkered down close, smelling the cool stone and peered over the edge.

I sense movement to the side, and look up to see my guide smiling at me from across the brush I'd hopped over. I grin back - and raise my arms to mimic the weight of a musket at my shoulder. Sighting down that imaginary barrel, I imagine dirt where now is asphalt. Scarlet wool and buff leather and sulpher-tinged air instead of the crisp air and passing cars.

.. for that's where we were.

Battle Road, they call it.

Two hundred thirty six years ago, that last bridge had been crossed. We had raised our hand against our Sovereign. That final irrevocable step was taken.

This was no mob in the streets, some civil offense for a courthouse trial. No few criminals for the gibbet. This was a road filling up with armed men, firing as a body on the uniform that scarcely a generation ago had meant safety, and honour, and the defense of our British liberties.

For a bit of perspective.... there is now less time separating us from 9/11, than there was between the end of that last great war with France in 1763, and 1770 - when the hated lobsterbacks opened fire in Boston.

Things had deteriorated that quickly, and that completely.

Now, in 1775, that "Clash of Resounding Arms" that Patrick Henry had recently only prophesied would indeed soon by carried on the winds south to Virginia.

But for now, this was a Yankee fight.






On the drive home, my host repeated a story he had heard growing up, wherin a southern planter had met a Yankee farmer. This is butchered I'm sure, but I recall the gist of it.

"This soil, it's so thin, and the weather so chill - surely you can't manage a large plantation here."

"Nope"

"And these stones you're constantly pulling from the earth just to plow - you must be spend half your time carting rock."

"Yep."

"And your season must be so short. Tell me - what is it exactly that you grow here in these fields?"



".... Men."

Y'all are an interesting bunch up yonder.
(Well, down yonder now I guess. :p )

Sweet tea.

Via a message from Paul, Arctic Patriot has a Request for Perspective.

I would like to once again ask for your help and input. This goes out primarily to those who live in the former CSA...
What is it like? Really?

What is it like what is is like to have met, been defeated by, and then to have been razed by a relentless, materially superior enemy that is interested only in obtaining the submission of its foes?

What is it like to be "part of the good 'ole US of A, when you know that the "U" was obtained only after your kinsmen and ancestors were murdered to make it so? After the US government applied "scorched earth" to your lands in a manner that would've made any despoiler throughout history proud?

...


What is it like to be demonized and villified in the way that you have been by the US government?

I cannot imagine.

I say I'm a Southerner in spirit, but I'm not presumptuous enough to pretend I can really understand the way you do. I'm sure many from the former CSA don't give it a second thought. I know for a fact that many do.

I don't care much for the official version. Help me learn your story, if you would.

Hrmm...




Well first, a recap of my background.
I was born in Dixie, grew up in the mountain south, and at least from a heritage standpoint self-identify as Southern Appalachian. My father, while never a reenactor or professional historian, was a Civil War nut as a boy and we all got a lot of stories growing up. I remember on my high school exam writing out the lyrics to both the CSA and USA versions of "Battle Cry of Freedom" on the back, burned into my memory from the Johnny Horton tapes he often played in the car.

The past was always pretty close you might say.

So that's that.




Second, let's get the obvious off the table.
Among the dead, there are plenty of Cherokee moms and African dads with their own bones to pick from the other side of the table. I'll not deny them their dignity by saying they weren't done wrong. They were. So were the people their ancestors whooped on in their time. Plenty of evil in this ol' world to go around.

So those we hurt have their stories, but I don't think they're mine to tell. So I'll leave those tales with those to a right to them, and speak to what I've been given.





Now. So.
What's it like growing up Southern a century and change after the Late Unpleasantness?


First, the brutal part of it. When and where I grew up, the following sentiment a previous poster left was not uncommon, though I don't think I'd go so far as to say it really haunted daily life for most people. -

And here's what's sadly ironic.

My ancestors, the poor whites of the mountain South, mostly favored the Union and fought for the Union during The Civil War in large numbers.

There was no reason for my ancestors to fight and die to preserve an aristocratic class of landed gentry that kept my people poor by using slaves instead of hiring employees.

Hell, some of my ancestors freakin' created West Virginia when they seceded from Virginia after Virginia seceded from the Union.

But you arrogant, ignorant Damn Yankees are so damn arrogant and ignorant and smugly superior that not many groups of Southerners hate you all more than those of us in the mountain South, whose ancestors probably favored the Union back then.

150 years of oppression and hate and derision aimed at us will cause that, you know?

Anon, 7:59PM

I'd be lying if I didn't say my uncensored gut reaction on a bad day isn't fair similar, even if I try to be all polite and remember that whole "do unto others" thing.

There's folk from north of the Mason-Dixon I truly like to no end, but to my mind, "Yankee" still carries the connotation of "smug bastard just aching to beat you to death with the beam in his eye for the sake of his perfect world, then count himself righteous for doing it."


I don't like the sight of Yankee blue.



HOWEVER

It is for the dead to bury the dead.

There is not a Yankee alive that killed a kinsman of mine, or burned a Southern farm, or starved out a Southern family. It is finished, it is done, and all have gone to their rest.

So yeah, I might still keep a momento or two about the house. I'll definitely smile and wave at the proud old gentleman riding by in gray and gold, and seeing an underfed teenage kid in butternut clutching an old Enfield just about melts my heart. Heck, I'll even sing "Good ol' Rebel" now and again, bitter and dire as it is.

The history of my old homeland is important to me because it's a part of me - it's one little thread of that great tapestry, that piece that l was entrusted with. And it's a pretty rich one to have. I like it. I treasure it.

But if I'm not allowed to bear a grudge against the living, I sure ain't gonna bear one against the dead. There's more than enough hatred in this world I don't need to be adding to it for the sake of wrongs done a century before I was born.

it is finished

... well, at least till round two. ;)

Reflections on the day

... The last week or so for some reason the 150th has been gnawing at me.

What love I have for our nation's story is undoubtedly very much the product of my father. He was a great Civil War student, and some of my fondest memories of growing up are being all cuddled up with family watching the Ken Burns special on TV, or getting carted off to this cow pasture or that and shivering to feel the ghosts march across the grass.

Anyhow, the last week or two I've come repeatedly across one reminder or another of the period - here's a couple interesting podcasts about Lincoln I'll recommend* -


Lincoln on Slavery, Race, and Civil Liberties, Michael Burlingame
Part One
Part Two


It'a a much more balanced impression than the American Lenin flavor of states rights apologia, but nonetheless a journey. Good thing to have playing while you go about your day if you can.



At about the same time, I came across this jaunty tune.



Now, I love the music, but the fourth verse has haunted me since I first heard it.

And if our southern cause is lost
and southern rights denied us
we'll be ground beneath the tyrant's heel
for our demands of justice
for our demands of justice
We'll be ground beneath the tyrants heel
for our demands of justice

To paraphrase the old saw.... when you're feeling put upon by the Almighty.... never demand justice.

*shiver*






Addendum... I know I poke my own sacred cows sometimes, but to defuse the "I love it so I'll always talk about how bad we are" syndrome - I grew up seeing the rebel battle flag a flyin' everywhere, and if you put me, even the me of TODAY, right back in 1861, I'd still - not without regrets - go make my home amongst the gray.

If a disagreement's bad enough for folk to start shootin' at each other, it's fair to say both sides may have a point. But ultimately..

" ... because you're down here Billy..."


















=======================
*(As an aside, the whole array of American history podcasts on offer is amazing. Sometimes the sound quality is low, being recorded in a classroom environment, but they very much reward casual listening).

It's all fun and games...

... till the talkin' stops.


Century and a half.. has it been so long?

... sleep well boys. :(

Friends like these.

To continue with the trekking meanderings - as I slowly trade out one piece of modern backcountry gear or another for its antiquated counterpart, a few themes keep recurring -

Sustainability - the crude could stop coming out of the ground tomorrow, and people - well, what people were left - would still be painting oilcloth and knitting wool socks for centuries to come. Try that with Goretex and Vibram.

Human scale - with a couple exceptions, most all of it can be fabricated oneself with a minimum of tools - even the tools to make the tools are a bare step or two away from raw trees and rocks.

Simplicity - There just isn't a toy for every little need. Some stuff is improvised on an ad hoc basis - many many others dispensed with entirely.

It really is a fascinating hobby - most important I think for how it focuses the mind on just how little is necessary to live... and how much is required for our lives as we know them.


Down in Oz, Loup is working on an interesting series of posts [one two three four] tying together the living history side of things with the whole survivalist... preparedness ... whatever it's being called now.

It really does seem to scratch some of the same itch I think - I doubt there's much coincidence that at least in America the historical hobbies seemed to blossom when we were in the midst of a decades-long ideological conflict that forced us not just to plumb our own national identity, but also face the possibility of it all burning down if the missiles started to fly.

Add to that, well - it was the first generation or two where most folks started living off the farm and getting homesick for it. (Of course, some folks had the good sense to just not leave in the first place. ;) )

All that together, I think it's no surprise that undercurrent of rootedness and self/clannish reliance runs through both cultures.


Now - all that comes with a boatload of caveats. I think in an age of FLIR and radar imagery and whatever else the Better Killing Inc** folks have come up with in the last several decades, the days of encamped Wolverines in the mountains are probably pretty much done. Add to that there's a world of difference between a nice week or three in the bush, and building a new home from the trees.

On a more practical scale though, I can't deny it's a nice cozy feeling having a full larder at home, basics that are easy to move, and standing invitations with friends in several different parts of the country.

It's nice to be useful. :p




... Which brings me back around to Loup's talks, and why the hobby itself has some neat side benefits. You do stuff.... know it in a way you just can't from a book.


Recently in conversation those same Foxfire books came up again - the idea being how useful they'd be if things soured for us in the first world.


Now, all credit due to the folks who said that- they know and have done a heck of a lot more than I ever have. I am but an egg!...


And yet, the old bardic instinct comes back...

Knowledge between pages is useless. Worse than useless, for it leads to false confidence.

It's the knowledge in your head and in your hands what makes the difference.

So keep talkin' y'all. Thanks for the lectures... there is an audience out here on the other side of the lights. ;)












Next on the project list - fiddle bag and shoes!! :)























* One of the more curious splits I've seen amongst those in this hobby is the cultural/political one across timelines of interest. It's hardly a universal, but broadly speaking it seems to me the more right- and libertarian- types tend to gravitate to the post-gun powder era, roughly F&I to just post US Civil War, and the more left of center types to the medieval period. Why that may be is a discussion for another day. :p


** So when's that book coming out, Tams?

Easing into it...

So when visiting with a friend last weekend, we hit the local junkshop, and I found a very lightly used Whitney blanket. On a whim before bed tonight, I picked the thing up, intending to doze an hour or so in the yard to see what it was like.

And you know what?

... for no ground pad, no tent, no fire (no socks!) - just dozing on the one person-sized spot of bare ground peeking through the (hopefully) last of Alaskan snows this season - that had surprisingly little suckage. Coming inside was less a "thank God" than an "oh, I guess I'd better.. I have work tomorrow and still need to bathe."

Hunh. I might actually manage a walk this summer after all.

This is fun! :)

Private papers...

".... and I came home with a Foxfire book! The one with bark tanning and banjos!"

"Awesome! I've got a complete set. Funny story about buying them mail order from some lunatic in Idaho who gave a 10% discount for paying "specie metal", so.."

"Wait - is he still a lunatic if the silver you sent him held its value, while the dollars you *would* have sent him have tanked?

...

Shut up, you!

Can you believe that Noah? He insists on being paid in pitch and nails! What a maroon! ...... I hope it's not still raining tomorrow, I want to go to a picnic. :)









.. better to beg forgiveness. ;)

Question for the cooks....

New toy!!

Cooks with a little spare time to share your expertise - I would very much appreciate your expertise if you have a minute.

If you're in a rush, the question's at the bottom.. feel free to skip to the end. :)

For everyone else, here's the story.

So the most of you I've told that this summer I'm planning to try the whole 18th c.-ish hiking/camping thing. As such, I've been slowly assembling the pieces to try it with.

Enter this. It's ahistoric as all heck, but it was such an interesting idea I wanted to try it:


Essentially, it's a skinny snapsack, meant to carry dried food for the trail. Seems someone in the 16th c. mentioned seeing a native carrying his corn meal in a bag "like a bow case" tied about his waist, and so apparently in the 1990's the "food quiver" had a brief surge of popularity amongst the trekking crowd before being abandoned as a farberism and sold off as junk.

..... but imaginary or not, it still seemed like a neat idea to experiment with.* And I confess, having an easy-to-grab, easy-to-carry sack with a week's worth of eatables hanging by the door still strikes me as a good idea for some reason.

So... last weekend I finally managed to get the thing sewn, cooked up a batch of parched corn, and carried it about today, munching out of it for lunch.

On the practicality, I'll withhold judgment until I get to try it on a longer hike - but so far I'm liking it - if for no other use than as a quick-and-easy supplement to toss in the car for road trips - planned or no.

On the contents... whuff.

Now I've talked about parched corn before, and I guess I could live on it a while if I had to. But between smelling like a bag of corn nuts all day, and the "lunch was a bag of corn chips" tummy feeling, I think as long as I'm throwing historicity to the wind, I'd like to change up the mix.

farby goodness

The Question.

So - I want to fill this bag with a mix of dried foodstuffs that can boiled into a decent pottage, with a quart or so of water at a single setting. Thus as much as I'd like "rice and beans" - I think the needing to pre-soak the beans scratches that idea, at least for those varieties I've played with.

Nutritionally, I'd like as balanced as I can get, so as to avoid the "craving green" or "craving fat" feelings... assume a day of fair gentle walking under a moderate load on a cool day, nothing exhausting.

Finally, I'd like to avoid the spendy camping specialty store freeze-dried stuff and stick to the grocery store aisle.


I'm thinking some mix of split peas, maybe barley or rice for carbs, maybe with some dried peppers, onion, and dried-to-crispy jerky. But before I start with the hit-and-miss experimentation - can any of y'all offer some advice?

What have y'all tried that works well?













* Cool! Some neat guy just did the same thing. Can't be that bad an idea then. :p

les Voyaguers

I haven't a guldurned clue what they're saying, but check this out -





We live in the most amazing age of cultural fragmentation and cross-fertilization. Things like this make me think we actually see something akin to Neal Stephenson's "'claves" in another generation or two.

Gosh this modern age is a fun ride. :)

From twelve days after Christmas until Ash Wednesday there is little but Dancing Fiddling - Drinking going on here... Each Couple dance five Minuets - & as Tag rag & Bob Tail come without being played as they call it dress'd in their best Bibs - Tuckers Some with Tom Hawkes in their Hands & others in their Mouths smoking of Tobacco. It is the most tiresome Sight I ever beheld."


George Morgan, speaking of French settlers in the Ohio country c. 1768-69, via Mark Baker's "Sons of a Trackless Forest" p. 348

Gratitude....

Most every day this side of the earth is a blessing.

But some days - some days are just especially awesome, because they remind you of just how many cool people you can run into in one lifetime.

In the last eight hours, I've dropped by the friendly neighborhood blacksmith to look at a neat project coming along and talk medieval surgery tools*, wandered an Alaskan airfield looking at the most awesome airplanes ever made,** had the most delightful conversation with the good Reverend and IA guy,*** and then trundled home to a box of gen-u-ine Boston tea****.

Yeah... yeah, it's been a good day.

Thanks to the all of you for making it so. Y'all just rock. :)








* eek!
** That would be the Piper Super Cub and the DHC Beaver. No, no if you have another opinion you're just wrong. The Beaver's the coolest ever. ;)
*** Miss D, your baby is looking beautamous!
**** SO COOL!!! Thank you. :)