I remember my first experience with the Civil War as if it was yesterday. My younger brother and I were on a family vacation to Washington D.C. We were perhaps seven or eight years old and had never before visited our nation's capitol. The first attraction we saw was
Harpers Ferry, WV.
Harpers Ferry holds significant connections with the Civil War and most importantly, the infamous raid by the deranged lunatic Abolitionist John Brown. I listened to the historic account with profound enrapture as if it was the story of Santa Claus himself.
Immediately we were enchanted with the idea of the blue and grey clad soldiers killing each other on a grand scale. What fun we would have reenacting the brutal murder of thousands in our back yard! But before we could begin our countless hours of play, we had to obtain suitable equipment.
First and
foremost we had to have guns, preferably rifles. How can we pretend to be fighting an epic civil war without firearms? Next we had to have hats. Without hats, someone might mistake us for soldiers from the Revolutionary War or even worse - World War I!
We quickly engaged the enemy - our parents - in yet another battle in the
never ending war for toys. We were young and still
prefered the direct assault rather than more nuanced and effective techniques we would learn with age and experience.
Our attack began without warning and in
earnest, "Mom, I want a rifle!" Before our
unsuspecting foe could react, we immediately escalated and intensified our attack. The enemy was completely caught off guard. We saw our opportunity and went for it with reckless abandon before resistance stiffened. Again we escalated the attack, boldly drawing on a do or die tactic - the
temper tantrum.
Once engaged, the
temper tantrum will inevitably lead to one of two scenarios. In the
preferred scenario, our parents
acquiesce to our demands and the
temper tantrum ends
immediately. But more often the
temper tanturm resulted in the second scenario - immediate
punishment. For this occasion, it proved extremely effective.
After such a sudden and intense attack, our parents'
resistance collapsed like an old barn in a
tornado. We won our toy rifles and then, drunk on power we upped the
ante and demanded hats as well. Perhaps exhausted from the hours of driving, again our parents gave in to our demands.
"Which hat do you want?" There were not only two different styles of hats but they came in two different colors - blue and grey! We were befuddled. Beyond the demand for a hat, this was not something we had remotely considered. Was this a trick? I watched silently as my brother asked the obvious, yet most important question. "Who won?" he boldly asked. It was an essential question, because how could we pretend to be the
losers - we were winners
damn it!! "The blue," responded my mother. We would be blue! I got the small kepi style hat and my brother got the larger
cavalry style - both blue.
Although we were not allowed to play with our rifles in the car, we wore our blue hats proudly for the rest of our trip which ended at our family reunion in Maryland.
Like all children, we were not happy or excited at the prospect of attending a family reunion yet we
dutifully got out of the car and began to greet the myriad of unknown relatives and strangers. As cute
children we were
descended upon almost immediately. Much to my surprise, many relatives
recoiled in abject horror at the site of our blue hats. It was similar to the effect of garlic on
Dracula. At first I was confused. I had probably refused to shower the night before - was my smell that revolting?
"What are those children doing with those hats?" one relative demanded. "They're alright with me!" another relative said before giving us both great big bear hugs. It began to dawn on me, our blue hats had a profound effect on adults. At the same time they engendered anger and shock in some while pride in others. These hats were much bigger than I had imagined. Why did these cheap felt and cardboard hats that would probably
disintegrate in
water cause such strong and varied reactions among my relatives?
I had to find out why. Thus, my interest in the Civil War was born.
Towering above the crest of the Inyo mountains, the Winnedumah is an 80 foot tall boulder with a mysterious legend of origin. For generations, the native Paiute people have revered the unusual rock. According to legend, thousands of years ago a Paiute tribe was being chased into the Inyo Mountains by a rival tribe. Chief Winnedumah stood at the top of the mountain and began to pray for the salvation of his tribe and suddenly he was transformed into the giant monolith and the enemies were swept away. Today the Winnedumah still protects the Paiute people.
With my time in the Owens Valley growing ever limited, I felt it time to climb to the top of the Dwelling Place of the Great Spirit (that's what Inyo means) and visit the Winnedumah. After some advice and maps from my coworker Richard, I felt it appropriate to set out on the morning of leap year.
After some initial difficulty finding the trail, I was pounding through the sage and rocks towards the mystic Winnedumah.
After making excellent time up the steep mountain slope, I was surprised to encounter snow - not inches of snow, but feet of snow. What had appeared from the valley floor to be tiny insignificant patches on a few of the upper peaks were in fact enormous drifts covering the north aspect and every drainage. Needless to say I quickly lost the trail, but continued on nevertheless.
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