The Real Washington's Birthday

 

George Washington,  Gilbert Stuart, American, 1796

We had a federal holiday a few days ago commemorating Washington's birthday but it was simply another one of those government manipulations to provide us with three-day weekends. Washington was actually born on February 22. Perhaps a few days don't matter much in a nation that has lost its appreciation for history and reality over the past decades. Still there are some personalities and events worthy of authentic remembrance. George Washington, fondly recalled as the Father of His Country, is one of them. Here is what Scott Johnson (Powerline) has to say about the subject:

Of all the great men of the revolutionary era to whom we owe our freedom, Washington's greatness was the rarest and most needed. At this remove in time it is also the hardest to comprehend.

Today as we contend with the contemporary equivalent of "the Babylonish empire," let us send up our thanks to the Ancient of Days for this indispensable man.

Johnson originally posted these words in 2006 and it's worth reading the rest of his brief and notable remarks. Very uplifting.

Learn more about the young adventurer who became the father of his country at the following sources:

George Washington Birthplace National Monument

 Washington's birthplace - the original site is in the foreground

Fort Necessity National Battlefield

Valley Forge National Historical Park

Independence National Historical Park

George Washington's Mount Vernon Estate, Museum, and Gardens

Washington Monument

George Washington Masonic Memorial

In 1747, when Washington was 15 years old, he accompanied his friend, George William Fairfax, on a surveying expedition to the Virginia - now West Virginia - frontier and the headwaters of Patterson Creek, a tributary of the South Branch of the Potomac River. I got to know well over a thousand feet of Patterson Creek intimately over the span of a quarter century. The creek was a great source of recreation, leisure, study and contemplation. It was a powerful force in shaping my future. I learned of Washington's trip there long after I'd left the place but I still think about what it would have been like sitting on the creek bank in 1960 and suddenly seeing a teenage boy in colonial dress come slogging around the bend about 50 yeards downriver. That small stretch of Patterson Creek is a sacred place and although I havent sat on its bank or skipped stones across its quiet pools for fifty years this landscape I remember still speaks to me about our imaginary conversation. I'm quite sure that young Washington would have no expectation of becoming in the words of his eulogy delivered by Henry Lee, "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his contrymen." 

In my experience every sacred place opens dimensions and portals as time exposes layers of its past. Listen carefully next time you stand slone in the "riffles of your favorite creek. You will hear your own stories there. Some of you may have your own talk with George. 








Sources


Illustrations:
Stuart portrait, a copy known as the Lansdowne Portrait, hangs in the White House. The original is located in the National Portrait Gallery, Washington, D.C.
Postcards are from the author's archive.

St. Andrew's Day 2022

It's a brilliant, cool, and windy St. Andrew's Day here in the rolling hills of east metro Atlanta.  I was very pleased to unfurl the St. Andrew's Cross - the flag of Scotland - at our home to honor both the country and it's patron saint.

There's no feasting or dancing for me today. On the other hand I can enjoy thinking of the many years my wife and I attended the Clan Robertson and Clan Donnachaidh ceilidh. The event followed the closing day of the Stone Mountain Highland Games held annually in mid-October. Our gathering lasted deep into the evening and always featured a top shelf Scotch whisky tasting, plenty of dancing and singing, a few pipers pipping, harps and fiddles, and tables groaning with food, including the occasional haggis which often left a few guests groaning as well. At its height well over 100 guests attended, many of them from the farthest reaches of the Scottish diaspora.

It has been fifteen years since I last attended the games and an afterparty. Much has changed over that time as the main event approaches its fiftieth anniversary. For one, the famous tattoo that attracted pipe bands from around the world fell victim to high costs and the loss of its venue. In addition the organization has struggled somewhat to build and sustain interest in Scottish history and ancestry among younger people who will determine its future. As for me I'm quite content to let the St. Andrew's banner grace the entrance to the house and dream about renewed friendships, great music, and those wonderful Scotch eggs I enjoyed on so many Sunday evenings in Stone Mountain.



Wishing you and yours a happy St. Andrew's Day!

Juneteenth: Emancipation In All The Land

If you are an American with African ancestry dating to the Civil War era you have known about Juneteenth from very early childhood; otherwise, the term may be vaguely familiar or perhaps even new. I think of Juneteenth as an ingredient in our national experience that is just now blending in the melting pot concept we learned about in elementary school. We're going to hear much more about the day as we should. In fact, there is a strong chance the day will become a federal holiday in the near future. So what is this day all about? Here is a description fro the Library of Virginia:

[Juneteenth] has grown into a popular event across the country to commemorate emancipation from slavery and celebrate African American culture. Juneteenth refers to June 19, the date in 1865 when the Union Army arrived in Galveston and announced that the Civil War was over and that slaves were free under the Emancipation Proclamation. Although the proclamation had become official more than two years earlier on January 1, 1863, freedmen in Texas adopted June 19th, later known colloquially as Juneteenth, as the date they celebrated emancipation. Juneteenth celebrations continued into the 20th century, and survived a period of declining participation because of the Great Depression and World War II. In the 1950s and 1960s Juneteenth celebrations witnessed a revival as they became catalysts for publicizing civil rights issues of the day. In 1980 the Texas state legislature established June 19 as a state holiday.

Emancipation                                                     Thomas Nast, American, 1865

Although not a federal holiday quite yet there will be official state celebrations of this historic event in forty-three states.  Several significant days have competed to honor the subject, including September 22: the day Lincoln issued his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation Order in 1862; January 1: the day it took effect in 1863; January 31: the date the 13th Amendment passed Congress in 1865, officially abolishing the institution of slavery; and December 6: the day the 13th Amendment was ratified that year. The persistence of the celebration in Texas on June 19 embedded it in the social fiber of former slaves and their families who carried it with them in their migrations to all corners of the nation and to urban areas in particular. Growing wealth among black communities in the 20th century  enabled them to hold lengthier and more elaborate celebrations.

Despite a near-century of prejudice and racism, both de jure and de facto, Juneteenth survived across the nation. It was revitalized nationally by the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. (April 4, 1968), in combination with his Poor People's March on Washington (planned for May 12 to June 24, and its early conclusion with the Solidarity March on June 19.

We extend our best wishes for a joyous day to all those celebrating Juneteenth. And it's the perfect time for all of us to "honor the countless contributions made by African Americans to our Nation and pledge to support America’s promise as the land of the free."

For more about the history of this significant day in American history visit the Juneteenth World Wide Celebration site.

Sources:

Photos and Illustrations:
Library of Congress at loc.gov

Text:
virginiamemory.com
loc.gov
wikipedia.com
pbs.org, The African-Americans: Many Rivers to Cross
"honor the countless" quote, whitehouse.gov

Closure That Never Ends

It was freezing this morning in Burlington, West Virginia, a little village near property that was my home away from home in the summers and weekends of the first third of my life. Winter came quickly to those ridges and valleys after the first freeze and the weekend closest to October 15 always marked the seasonal closure for the cottage.




Today, the sycamores along the river are much taller but they still explode in yellow this time of year along with my favorite walnut trees. And the young maple I climbed every year until long after I matured has itself matured into a massive Fall fire tree. Sixty-five years ago I watched the men in their bulldozers reshape the creek bank and channel into a stony beach. It was much safer for the generation of bathers who enjoyed it but the creek remembered this affront and each year restored a small portion of its original character. Today the landscape appears very much as it did when I, my father, and perhaps my grandfather first saw it.

Patterson Creek ca. 1935

I called that landscape "Camp." It was paradise for a young boy. The creek bordered a property with woods, open fields, and a playground. Many social events were held there every summer and the opportunity to make new friends was just about endless. A stay at the grounds was far from a wilderness experience. The cottage had every comfort of home and the neighboring properties were not what most people would expect. A treeline separated us from a drive-in theater where I enjoyed the snack bar as much as the movies. Across the road was a small airfield with several Taylorcrafts and Aeroncas and a hangar that gave birth to many "homebuilts" over the years. I can say with confidence that a stay at "camp" was never boring.

Burlington campground, 1959

During my first 28 years - through the summer of 1974 - I spent many weeks at "camp" every year, including several weekends of "cold camping" in the off-season. It 's an annual cycle I remember well. Freezing temperatures lingered into May so the campground usually opened on Memorial Day weekend. Although the prospect of returning to the cottage for another season was exciting it wasn't especially memorable. In the next six months the experiences accumulated: the family visits, friends old and new, the big fish, fireworks, hail storms, watching scary movies on a blanket under the stars, seeing a new airplane take shape. plane talking in general, and many more. Before long, October was on the calendar and it was time to winterizing the place. Declutter the cottage, clean house top to bottom, empty the refrigerator, empty the trash, drain the water heater and blow out the pipes, open all faucets, anti-freeze in all the sink traps, winterize the water pump, load the car with luggage and the season's walnut harvest that dried on the picnic table over the past week.

Hulling black walnuts at Burlington campground, 1967

Leaving it was like saying "Goodbye" to an old friend. Amid the blazing gold sycamores, brilliant fire oaks and maples, the smell of wood smoke, and a harvest of black walnuts, we went through the years-old closing procedure until the last items before our departure. After a final security check on all windows and the big front door it was time to pull the main breaker on the electric panel and leave through the kitchen door giving it an extra tug or two to make sure it was locked. From there it was down the driveway to the big gate at the main road, a bushel or two of fresh apples from the nearby orchards and and a two hour drive to Washington. 

I haven't closed that big red door on the cottage or visited the little village nearby for over forty years now. There is a new generation there these days, all strangers. The score of people who taught me to love the place are gone and their cultural imprint on it continues to fade. The gleaming white post and rail fence is in decay. The cedar pavilion where I played for hours on end, observed picnickers enjoying their Labor Days, and listened to local old time music and fire and brimstone preachers lies in ruin. All the playground equipment - every piece massive, unsafe by today’s standards and shining in its blue, yellow and red paint - has disappeared. The drive-in theater next door closed a generation ago along with the little air field across the highway. Indeed the place is a foreign country. Only nature and memory endure.

A version of this post first appeared in 2008.

A St. Patrick's Day Countdown - Day 6

Bring my pipe and fill its bowl,

That I may puff to sooth my soul.

For it is sure to clear my brain,

And bring old memories back again.

About Irish clay pipe traditions

Our music for the day comes from the Irish Rovers. For the last fifty years they toured the world with their ballads. In 2015-16 they will carry out their last world tour. The members live in both Canada and Ireland and intend to keep the Rover sound alive by attending music festivals and special events. 

And now it's time for an excerpt from the rich tradition of Irish literature. If you know the author and book title you can have an extra pint of Guinness next Tuesday.

...I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish Wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.