Well, tonight at the site of the Harris Farm the commemoration of the Battles of the Wilderness and Spotsylvania Court House will come to an end. While I wish I had been able to attend more of the commemorative events, those I did have the pleasure of going to or helping to lead seemed appropriately somber and very well done.
I tend to fall into the camp of folks who believe that battlefields are no more or less hallowed on the anniversaries of when the battle took place versus any other given day. And, being blessed to live so near these fields of honor and horror, I have the privilege of communing with these sites whenever I wish.
Thus, I will leave the analysis of which tours were the best and which events were the most moving to those whose participation exceeded my own.
As some of you know, my other main area of study other than the American Civil War is the First World War, and I recently came across a quote from a book on that tragic topic that resonated with my inner reactions to the photographs that kept showing up on my Facebook page of hundreds of people crossing fields and forests that were once drenched with blood.
I leave this quote not as a criticism of others, but as a caution to myself:
“I fear I’d fallen victim to the exuberant nihilism of the battlefield enthusiast, and that soon I would be whooping with joy at coming across a trench in the forest, or a skeleton behind a barn. There is a sort of macho romance to the futility of war, an attraction to seeing things fall apart, born of the same impulse that makes setting fires or watching the wrecker’s ball such a fun pastime for so many men.” – Stephen O’Shea, Back to the Front:An Accidental Historian Walks the Trenches of World War I