Talk Of Secession

It was a warish kind of weekend. Not one, but two excellent reenactments were going on, in adjoining towns, no less. Readers of this blog will know of my affinity for all things historical, especially all things militarily historical.



I've driven the family on forced marches from Lexington Green to as far as Ticonderoga, to witness Revolutionary War reenactments. So with such conditioning it was an easier load to bear simply heading only 40 minutes away to Brimfield, for daddy to get a dose of Virtual Civil War.



There was a lull in battle when we arrived. Some troops had taken to drilling in preparation for the next confrontation...



...while others languished in the shade.



...Some took cat naps...



...or ran the course that all idle, ill disciplined troops have done since war immortal: drinking, to horseplay, to fisticuffs.



The officers immediately pounced and this scuffle was cut short before it could really get going.



The drunken offenders were driven around camp in the most embarrassing way.



It was a neat little display in historical context. These reenactments are never just about the battle. Just as many participants, usually the soldiers' wives and family members, join in the fun and do their part as camp makers.



Although sometimes, then and now combine a little.



These reenactors went to some lengths to bring all aspects of this especially brutal conflict to light.



By mid afternoon word came in over the wire that trouble was brewing over the crick. Commanders were consulted, both sides slowly broke camp, shuffled to arms and readied for battle.





Best to get in your final goodbyes before the fight.



Both armies were called to muster, where final inspection of man and materiel were made.





Under the strains of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and then Dixie, both armies were marched in turn.







They headed off down a country road, around a long pond and to the hillside opposite the water, where the battle was joined.





Other reenactments we've been to allowed the spectators a much closer view of the goings on. This time we were a good distance away, and we soon heard why. The cannon brought along weren't the small field pieces the 18th century. This battle was fought with weaponry 100 years more advanced, and several times as powerful. The sound was deafening, even from this distance.



All throughout the fight, in the background of the earth shuddering explosions, shouting and echoing rifle fire, the band continued to play. It struck me that many of the real battles of old were fought this way, to music. "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again" took on a more sinister, darker and somber feel. For hundreds of thousands of people, those simple horns fifes and drums were the last melodies they would ever hear.



And the families they left behind would listen to those songs with a different perspective altogether.

Spiders

On the Sturbridge/ Brimfield line there's a wooded spot called the Leadmine Wildlife Management Area. And in part of that area is a short wooded path called the Heins Farm tail, where I happened to find myself strolling Monday afternoon.



It's a short easy trail on the edges of that farm, with a small wetlands area in the middle of the loop. Nothing too challenging, and fine for spending a quick, peaceful hour or so on such a warm November day.

The forests' winter transformation is just about complete, with animal and plantlife getting hard to come by...





There's faded signs of the passed season, with some hanger's on here and there...



...and evidence of a summer's worth of critter habitation...



...but now, nobody's home.



It was back at my own house again where I am usually able to get a close up of wild-life. This critter's been living out by the porch for several months, usefully earning her keep keeping less-useful insects away from us.



As far as bugs go, I'm partial to spiders...



They're not pretty, but darn useful.

I hope she stocked up, because Orion is on the rise again, and I'm sure the spider realizes the warm spell is probably just a final parting shot.



The real November will soon be ushering in another span of bitter cold and long, dark nights.



The spider will have to hunker down like the rest of us, and ride it out...



...we'll be needing her again in the spring.

Double Bogeys

The middle installment of the thrice-annual Brimfield Flea Market was going on this weekend. It was a splendid Sunday summer afternoon, so we drove out there to attend...



The flea market here is supposed to be one of the biggest in the country. The biggest, according to some flyers I saw. Of the three yearly events in Brimfield, the July one seems to be the least crowded. We came last year for the September event, and it was a madhouse. This time the main drag (Rte. 20), had much more elbow room. None of us know too much about antiques and collectibles, but it's still cool to browse around, and see some of the old stuff that can be found here.



Like these old Coke and Pepsi machines, duking it out since time immortal:





Or rotary phones. Remember rotary phones???



We heard Red is the most popular, and toughest color to find.

Lots of chrome and shiny stuff too:






There is also surviving evidence of old marketing ideas that have fallen into obscurity, like cologne in chess-piece shaped bottles:



Or a short lived knock-off of Monopoly, called Finance And Fortune...



It was created by Parker Brothers in 1936, a year after the original Monopoly, and two years before the company bought the rights to the original...



I have no idea what things like this are worth, but I came this close to buying this game. Hope I don't regret not getting it.

Children's toys from the pre-television era always catch my eye, like this trike,



and this sled.



Rosebud...! ( I had to say it...)

Back in the day, according to the guy selling this device, squirrels were more popular as pets than dogs were. Dogs were relegated to working animals back then. But if a kid could capture a squirrel, he'd captured a friend.



Deer In The Headlights

Throughout the afternoon, Kelly was going around and doing some legitimate browsing, as was Chris. But truthfully, I had just come to look at cool old stuff. As I took pictures of some of the items, no one seemed to mind. I did get a couple curious looks, and maybe a raised eyebrow from a vendor or two when I asked the price, then took a picture instead of buying. I suppose they were thinking "If this stuff is so interesting, why don't you buy it?" but no one really said anything out loud. So I was getting progressively more and more trigger happy with the camera, as we went from booth to booth.

And so it was that I came upon a booth with some really interesting historical stuff, apparently from the old South. It was items from the post-slavery and early segregation days, and some of the sad, stomach-churning signs, pictures, and products that were merchandised in that era. Some of it was pretty brutal, and I won't mention it here, or post the pictures I took...But still, I love history, whatever the subject matter. And I found these things very interesting, and educational. So I was taking pics, kind of half thinking how I could incorporate them into this blog post; but I've since decided against it. At any rate, I was taking maybe my sixth picture or so, when I heard an angry woman's voice behind me:

"No more photographs!... Enough is enough!" I quickly turned off the camera. Taken by surprise, I meekly said "ok" and slinked off. I could hear the vendor saying to her partner "He was taking photos!" I was a little embarrassed, and not sure if what I was doing was wrong. I suppose their stuff was for sale, and this wasn't a museum, after all. So I kept walking, and didn't debate the matter. Besides, she really didn't look like some one to tangle with.

It was about time to go. The Flea market must run about a mile or so, along Rte. 20. And it was several booths deep on each side. We had covered three quarters of it, and were a little beat from walking so far under the bright sun. A nap would have felt good. This lady had the right idea.



Driving away, my senses were by now tuned in, to the antique. Old things, like this car, leaped out at me.



Once we got moving, the wind woke us up a bit, and we made our way north, on into Belchertown. On the way we drove through the Bondsville section of Palmer, and passed the notorious Gin Mill, a famous biker spot.



Once on Rte. 9 in Belchertown, just past Quabbin, we pulled into this place, Evergreene Golf:



Before I go on, let me just say a little something about the game of Golf: A more frustrating game the devil himself couldn't spawn. I tried hard, for two seasons, to master it. I tried to fool myself that it was fun and I was progressing. But once you fall behind on the scorecard, there's just no coming back. It's more and more holes, and endless greens to trudge to. Lugging a heavy sack of failure tools across hot acres of grass, all the while the score sinking deeper and deeper into debt...By the twelfth hole or so, it's all just a sod-chopping blur, and it can't end soon enough. Before long, clubs are being hurled into the woods, after the errant balls; closely followed by blasphemies. No, I can't see ever feeling the need to set foot on a course again...

But Miniature Golf, is different, Kelly often assures me. It's fun! So I grudgingly take up the putter again, if only to amuse her. And besides Chris is into it too. I'll admit it is fun for the first nine holes or so, but from about there, my attention starts to wane, in a bad way, and my score begins to plummet. The game is evil, no matter how much you miniaturize it.





Here's a couple short clips of our game, and the frustrations it breeds. Also, a surprisingly above par performance from yours truly, early on...







A great shot made by Kelly, on her way to clinching the title:



I will admit this much about golf: It's probably the sport that's closest to fishing, as far as just hanging around in the great outdoors...