It was a miserable day. Sheets of rain pummeled from all sides as I attempted to walk through puddles of red Georgia clay. I balanced my camera underneath its protective black garage bag as I shimmied through hordes of people. Finally, I positioned myself along the viewing line and waited.
An explosion echoed between the two ridges, shaking the ground that I stood upon, and I struggled to catch my breath. I searched for the source. To my right, just over the hill, smoke rose melding with the rain that began falling harder. One blast, then another from canons lined at the hill’s peak, as a Gunner communicated orders to his men; they moved quickly, swabbing the barrel, loading the charge, clearing the soldiers, waiting for the order and then pulling the lanyard. All precise and rehearsed movements that happened repeatedly as instructed. From the left, I heard men shouting and charging on foot while just ahead, over the ridge, a symmetrical stance of horses merged onto the muddy field. The Battle of Resaca had begun.
Since early 2013, Americans have remembered the events of 150 years ago, a civil war that changed every generation that would follow. National parks, historians, tourism boards all seek to draw people to another place and time by displaying artifacts, crafting exhibits and sharing tales of a horrific time in our history. I, like most people, am captivated by this storied past, but it wasn’t until I heard that cannon fire on the battlefield in Resaca, Georgia, that I truly understood the weight of what had happened and who it had happened to. And even then, that realization was nothing but a whisper.
I was on the sidelines at the Battle of Resaca. Later, the Battle of Tunnel Hill. Finally, the Battle of Chickamauga. I came to realize that history book facts seemed rather superficial – the generals, the places, the routes. Now, voices and sounds connected me to history. A journalist wrote in his log as an eager soldier recounted his company’s skirmish. A five-year-old girl in the northern camp played with a gun that her daddy had carved out of a fallen tree. A wife hugged her husband goodbye, finding it hard to let go. A couple, who after a long day of battles, put on their finery and were married. Curious spectators lined the battlefield to see who would fall and who would walk away. A young infantryman tagged along side of me and declared, “My prayers have been answered. We’re going to war.”
My Civil War experiences have transformed a cast of nameless, faceless soldiers to a generation who has lived America’s story through perseverance, honor and hope. With nowhere to go or hide, they simply went forward. In the misery of rain or in sweltering 100 degree heat, they didn’t tarry or make excuses. For a brief moment, I heard their voices and cries, and although the sounds were merely replicas of a past life, they placed me in the middle of war, and I understood.
From Virginia to Tennessee to Georgia, there are events that will be memorializing The Civil War and its people. I urge you, and especially your children, to visit at least one location during this epic observance. We have listed links on The Battle of Chickamauga page that will help you plan your travels.
Judy and Len Garrison make their home in Athens, Georgia. Len, an IT manager for a major Atlanta company, and Judy, an editor and travel writer, want to hear from you as you follow along on their travels and then experience them for yourself. They would love to hear your comments and travel or profile suggestions at seeingsouthern@gmail.com. They make their home on Two Coots Travel, and you can always follow their travels on Twitter at @judyhgarrison and @seeing_southern. Don’t forget to like them on facebook.
