In Search of Melancholy
My dad was a big proponent of you could never appreciate how good you have it unless you understand how bad it could be. Case in point: when in Italy, I would go out to the countryside where the old rusticas (harvest cottages) lay in ruins. If you know where to look, you can still find bullet holes from WWII. I used to boost up to put my fingers in the holes. At the time, there were still some survivors who could recount the Occupation and the psychological scars that were still evident. Even though we would run off to the beach hours later and find reason to laugh, I never shied away from melancholy.
During our recent Gettysburg excursion, I had a nagging feeling that I was not fully grasping the devastation that had taken place on those hallowed grounds. I felt that there was a depth missing from my experience, even though I had been lavished with friendship, food, and an educational experience of a lifetime, but yet, the visceral aspect had yet to be explored. I was fortunate enough that one more day of Gettysburg remained, and it turned out to be one of the most important of the trip.
Normally, one would be dismayed to be awoken by the roar of a monsoon rain, but on this last day: I welcomed it as it would set the tone perfectly for my pursuit of a deeper darker experience. Besides, being well stocked with brolly & slicker was a near guarantee that the rain would cease….and it did.
The night before,
@PeterT had recounted a story told to him regarding Gettysburg Battle patients who were set by the creek that divides the Farnworth Restaurant from the Farnsworth House (apparently the house was overrun with patients). When the rains abruptly came after the final Battle of Gettysburg, the story goes that the creek swelled to a raging torrent and carried these patients to their death by drowning. Staring into that narrow shallow waterway, it was difficult to comprehend the watery fingers of death reaching out from below the banks and claiming their hapless victims.
In the morning, after exploring Devil's Den by daybreak, we decided to take a look at Little Round Top. The place looked like something out of a medieval fantasy, as it was shrouded in tufts of fog, light rain, and completely void of the din of modernity. To my surprise,
@Frums pointed down to a glen of trees and noted that this had been a temporary burial ground (re-buried elsewhere at a later date). At closer inspection, we could actually read the words spelled out by rocks: GRAVES. There were more gravesites deeper in the glen, but on this day it was too muddy to explore, so we retreated to the car for our next stop.
The Seminary cupola had always been on the bucket list, as we needed to get
@PeterT his close-up in his starring role as Sam Elliot playing Buford. He – Peter T – was ready for his star turn, as we had hilariously practiced reciting lines to
Gettysburg (the movie) the night before at the Farnsworth Restaurant. Unfortunately, access to the cupola was limited, so that Peter T would have to take the tour at a time when I would be on my way to the airport, so we decided to explore the Seminary Museum in the interim.
The Seminary Museum is an intimate experience of four floors, six rooms each with a theme that carries throughout the floor and is further broken down by room. It was here that I found what I had come for: The despair, destruction, and desperation of war. I read a passage describing the inconceivable carnage of the Pickett's Charge Battlefield – curiosity rendering scarred memories to the hapless author. Photographs of battle wounds that I still cannot get out of my head were on display – the empty eyes of the soldiers stuck in my psyche. A typical hospital room on display viewed through glass shows a couple of fortunate officers had beds….the rest of the patients were strewn about on the floor. I had my fill. THIS is what the Battle of Gettysburg was, and now I fully understood it. My experience was complete.
As my plane rolled down the runway, I looked over to the right, and on the other side of the fence, four coyotes were escorting our plane as it rolled out. Now, Native American myth states that when coyote crosses your path (this being close enough) you are supposed to immediate turn back and abandon your journey, as something bad was ahead. Not today: I had my Good Luck Suitcase and I was feeling confident
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