This has been a traveling summer for my husband Rhodes and me, and one that frequently led to unexpected places. The most recent journey in this realm carried us from our home in western North Carolina to our fairy goddaughter’s birthday party in the Catskill Mountains of New York State.  Driving straight through is a 12-hour, 810-mile trek, but fortunately for us, we have reached a point in our lives where we are unwilling to overexert ourselves on such a drive.

We planned for the drive to New York to take two days, but as our man Robert Burns wrote, “best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley.” For multiple reasons, our plans unraveled, and the carefully restrained stress of health issues and life in the current political and social climate of the United States of America and the world found its way through the cracks early on our second morning on the road. We were still in Virginia when we decided to slow down, regroup, and take another night’s easy rest.

Rhodes is a history buff, and we share an interest in America’s Revolutionary and Civil Wars. While we were checking the map for a place to spend the night, we realized that a slight change of course would carry us to Gettysburg. It seemed we could enjoy an evening touring the historic site of the Battle of Gettysburg, which is widely regarded as the turning point of the Civil War for the North.

Gettysburg battlefield [B. Rhodes]

I do not know what we were thinking, beyond our interest in history and our concern that there may soon come a time when we are no longer able to travel and explore this country. We discussed our concerns, which included the usual reasons of age, health, and finances. But more than that, we know that we are living in perilous times with an uncertain future. The rise of fascism under a mentally unstable, authoritarian, autocratic, delusional Putin wannabe who is also on the strings of an unknown puppet master is frightening. We are on the precipice of civil war, and some people are eager to hurtle us over the edge.

Having discussed all of this, we still chose to visit a Civil War memorial because we were following our love of history.

The backroads we traveled through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and southern Pennsylvania passed through idyllic farmlands, forests, and small towns. It was a gorgeous summer day, with clear blue skies and the kind of light that illuminated the landscape with the touch of softness and warmth that inspired artists like Julie Hart Beers Kempson to pick up a paintbrush. Or Witches like me to stop the truck in a grassy pull-off to connect with the earth and touch the grass and wildflowers.

It was an easy day filled with good road trip music, gorgeous scenery, and good conversation. We had no timeline to follow, so we stopped whenever an old barn or interesting shop caught our attention. We did skip Mr. Ed’s Elephant Museum and Candy Emporium, but only because it was obviously a sugar trap. By the time we were nearing the town of Gettysburg, it was just after 6 o’clock, and the beautiful light was taking on a golden hue.

Old building near Gettysburg [B. Rhodes]

I was relaxed; the stress and strain I carried had been softened around the edges by a good day spent with my best friend. After our early morning conversation, I unplugged from news of the outside world and deliberately pushed away intrusive thoughts. Fields full of corn and soybeans reminded me of the richness of this country and my conviction that it was founded by the hard work of people willing to do the next right thing, no matter how difficult that was.

Then we were through the town and approaching the memorialized battlefields. Despite my interest in history, I never realized how overwhelmingly large an area was desecrated by human conflict on July 1, 2, and 3rd, 1863. The National Park Service describes it thus:

Gettysburg National Military Park extends over an area of 5,700 acres, much of it planted in fields and crops, extending between two low ridges: Seminary Ridge, held by Confederates during the battle, and Cemetery Ridge, held by Federals. The central part of the battle terrain is usually described as shaped like a fishhook: Cemetery Ridge forms the long shank of it. Curving back on the hook, just southeast of town, is Culp’s Hill, and at the southern end is a series of hills called the Round Tops. The battlefield encompasses a mostly open agricultural area of rolling hills, scattered woodlots, and groupings of farmsteads that are remnants of the south-central Pennsylvania farming community that existed in the 1800s.

5,700 acres. Nearly nine square miles soaked in blood, terror, fear, anger, pain, and grief. It does not matter that 162 years have passed since the battle. Nor that healers may have worked to heal the land and the spirits that reside there, or that the elements and elementals have passed their seasons there. The land and land spirits remember what was wrought upon them, and they still grieve. The spirits of some of the humans who suffered there are still attached to the place.

I cried during the first 45 minutes we were there. The park is designed as a series of roads that allow visitors to navigate areas where battles occurred and troops were stationed. There are monuments everywhere, placed by states to commemorate the regiments and batteries present at Gettysburg. Fields are lined with wooden “worm” fences that lend a bucolic air to the scene.

Cannon at Gettysburg [B. Rhodes]

It is easy to imagine what the area looked like in the days before the battle, as not much has changed since then. It was easy to feel and see what it was like during and after, because after months of distress, my psychic shields were cracked, and the energy, spirits, and images of Gettysburg easily seeped through.

There were more than 50,000 human casualties in those three days; more than 7,000 of those were fatalities. It is estimated that up to 75% of those injured would have later died from their wounds. In addition, 5,000 horses and mules were also killed.

There were moments when I felt quite mad, admiring the physical beauty of the location as butterflies and cabbage moths fluttered among the wildflowers and tall grasses. Corn fields stretched as far as my eyes could see, and the smell of hay being mowed filled the air. The scents of a typical summer day mixed with the stench of blood and gunpowder, and I could sometimes hear shouts, screams, and crying. Not even Hollywood can top the spirit world in the art of juxtaposition.

Eventually, with the help of Rhodes and my spirit allies, I mended the cracks in my defense system. A bouquet of bull thistle and Queen Anne’s lace helped keep me grounded in the Here and Now. I was able to focus on the haunting beauty of the place without the haunts.

Rhodes and I had another conversation later in the evening, not long before we left the park. We were sitting on a bench near a monument called the Copse of Trees, the high-water mark where Confederate General Pickett was turned back. His defeat was essentially the end of the battle.

“We are going to do this again,” I said.

“It is already happening,” he replied.

“But it is not too late to turn the tide,” said I.

“It is not too late,” he agreed.

Fence at Gettysburg [B. Rhodes]

I wondered how many monuments to loss and stupidity the people of this country need. How many hours of anguish, how many shattered lives? Broken mothers, broken fathers, siblings, children, husbands, wives?

A few days later, we were headed back home. Another slow journey, this time intentionally planned to include a visit to another Civil War site. A love of history, a love of our homeland, and a determination to remember why it is essential to keep fighting the good fight carried us to Antietam in Maryland, where nearly 23,000 casualties were sustained in a single-day, 12-hour battle that took place on fewer than 12 acres of land on September 17, 1862.

We drove through the memorial site with the windows down, listening to the wind in the tall cornstalks tell stories. I wept at Bloody Lane and the Sunken Road, where death lies heavy and hollow. The fields and roadsides were filled with the same flowers I see at home: ironweed, mullein, bee balm, pokeweed, yellow coneflower, and cardinal flower, all serving as a reminder that we are all connected.

Something within me was mended when I left that place, and a deeper resolve born. The rest of the journey home was filled with good conversation and music, and a deeper appreciation of all that lives around me.

Monument at Gettysburg [B. Rhodes]

Abraham Lincoln, on Gettysburg: The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here so nobly advanced.

And so it is, in these dark times, for us, the now living, to continue that work until we are rid of the darkness that has pervaded these times.

So mote it be.