Civil War soldiers don't get manicures*

*Unless, maybe your name is Sam Davis.

Happy 5th of July. It's Dolly the Sheep's birthday (if cloned animals have birthdays, that is). I had today off, but I worked yesterday. It was a fantastically jamb-packed day, too.

Initially, I did not look forward to dressing like a Civil War solider. I don't like wearing that uniform (as it is dirty), and the shoes don't fit (and are ugly), and I don't like not wearing make up (and I do want to try to look as authentic as possible). But, as infantry training remains a part of my job as a seasonal, I trudged to work. I am not sure how I escaped infantry training for over a year, but unfortunately I had. Unfortunately, what? Didn't she just stop complaining about how she doesn't like it? I had a lot of fun training on the muskets. The day was not without its moments, though.

First, my "sergeant" (Jim) reprimanded me for not having my work (ranger) keys on my person (I informed him that I had left them in my other pair of trousers). Then I was issued my gear: a belt, a cartridge box, a cap box, and a rusted canteen). Jim instructed us on how to wear our gear and told us to fill our canteens so we can line up as attention. I avoided drinking from my canteen as much as possible. A) I didn't know who drank out of it last and B) I didn't want to get tetanus. We lined up and things started rolling pretty smoothly... at least for a little while.

I caught on pretty quickly with the marching, although I work with a number of smart alecks and they kept making me laugh. I was rolling pretty well until I Jim handed out the cartridges. As a demonstration, he put one in his mouth, like he was about to tear it for a demonstration, then put it back into my cartridge box. Elena had to point out that I didn't know which cartridge had the germs on it. Which didn't really matter, after every thing was said and done, as every cartridge I used I'd have to tear open with my teeth. Ew. To avoid mouth contact with germs, I attempted to tear the cartridge with my teeth and only my teeth. I tried bending over with my mouth open to avoid having to push any paper/gun powder residue out with my tongue. Jim reprimanded me for that, as by doing so I would lean over the muzzle of my barrel. So, I had to spit out the (sometimes mouths-full of) gun powder. I assure you that gun powder tastes every bit as disgusting as you can imagine.

The drilling part also proved fun, although I chipped three of my nails. I attempted to paint an extra layer of fingernail polish on, too, to prevent chipping. Alas. And while Civil War soldiers didn't have have manicured nails, I am sure they didn't have to deal with the "chest space" issue when trying to shoot. Let's just say being well-endowed makes for a difficult time lifting, holding, aiming, and shooting a musket. I am also pretty sure that I still have gun powder residue in the crevices of my fingernails, even though I have already taken two showers since yesterday morning. I guess that is part of this whole being a Civil War soldier thing.

I am not going to lie. After everything was said and done, I had a blast. I enjoy infantry far more than artillery. I'd almost argue that it made dressing like a soldier worth it (almost... almost). I think that it comes from the challenge of the whole thing. I enjoy being challenged. Listening to the commands and following them accurately was not always easy. I was a little sad when we had to stop infantry training so the rest of the crew could learn artillery. I changed into my ranger uniform, scarfed down some semblance of lunch, then headed out front to distribute visitor survey cards. I'll write more about those later this month.

After my busy, busy day at the park, I ran home to shower and head to the D-Friz's place in Woodbury to celebrate the Fourth with some bar-b-q and fireworks. I had a most enjoyable time. The food was good, the company was fantastic, and the location was wonderful. They live on top of a hill, so we could see other folks' fireworks from that location. The house also sits behind a forest that sits behind a ravine. The noise of the fireworks echoed off of the ravine emphasizing the boom. Additionally, while it did start to rain last night and we had one instance when the rain started falling so hard that we had no choice but to run inside, the accompanying electric storms created some very cool effects. The whole sky filled with clouds that would light up, like God was showing us his own fireworks demonstration. The evening turned out quite nicely and I could not have asked for a better time. Actually, the whole day turned out quite nicely and I could not have asked for more.

Various Visitors

I had a long, yet fulfilling, day today. I worked at the battlefield from 8 to 4:30, then babysat 7 kids from 5 until 11:30. And I am not sure why I am still awake. I think I just need to unwind. But I thought I would record some more memorable visitor interactions from today.

We often go on roves over the course of the day. "We" means the seasonal rangers and the summer interns/volunteers. "Roves" mean going outside, either walking or biking, and greeting visitors. Going on a rove is a way for us to make deliberate informal visitor contacts. We can help orient visitors and give information, always finding opportunities to connect people with this resource called battlefield.

Today, I roved for a little on my bike. The first family I met had driven down from Michigan to visit family in Nashville. We had a spectacular conversation about visiting places and experiencing history by experiencing historic sites. We walked for a little ways (I walked my bike along with them) and chatted about family traditions (especially Independence Day traditions) and the ideas of freedom. The dad wanted to bring his girls to historic sites to help them truly understand the meaning of freedom. I think that the battlefield is an interesting place to try and understand that idea, especially if you are going to look at it historically. What did freedom mean to the slaves and former slaves, during and after the war? What did freedom mean to Southerners, during and after the war? What did freedom mean to Murfreesboro citizens after the Union left? How did the meanings of freedom change according to who you were?

I encountered a five-year-old boy and his grandfather next. The boy had a canteen practically half the size of him strapped to his waist. I asked him what he had been up to and he told me "hiking." Evidently, he went on his very first hike today. He went to his grandfather this morning and stated, "I want to go on a hike." His granddad geared him up and took him around the tour loop and on some of the boundary trails. His bright blue eyes radiated his excitement of his recent adventure. Can I remember my first hike? My family did outdoorsy-stuff and I was a Girl Scout for 8 years (plus helped lead troops for 2 years following that). I don't know if I can specifically remember my very first hike. I imagine my canteen-toting friend will, though.

Later in the day, I had the pleasure of signing in a total of 11 new Junior Rangers. I love to do that, too. And these kids were very serious about becoming Junior Rangers (my favorite!). I became a Junior Ranger at Mount Rushmore when I was 10 years old. I also remember being very serious about my new role as Junior Ranger. Those rangers probably had no idea how important that moment was for me (and, quite possibly, how it affected my later career choices). Maybe one of the 11 today will one day become a park ranger, too.

I love my role as park ranger (even if I am just a seasonal). I consider myself a steward/manager/care-taker/guardian/protector/extraordinaire. I think most serving in the green and grey feel that way, too. My appreciation for the place and historic stuff combined with my love of the histories mixed with my passion for sharing makes this job way too easy and far too much fun.

Child's Play

As a gag gift, I bought a friend the kid's game "Hi-Ho-Cherry-O." It proved fun, as we spent most of our time laughing at the game (and the ridiculous notion that several 20-somethings were playing an "ages 3 and up" game on a Thursday night). Milton Bradley modified some of the rules to allow for a "cooperation" game. In that version, nobody "loses"; everyone playing teams up to fill your cherry basket before the puzzle gets completed.

Later, so another friend could take a break from studying, we decided to play "Sardines." If you don't know how to play that game (as I did not before last night), one person hides and everyone must find that person. Once you find the hidden person, you must hide with that person until everyone "sardines" together. We had a blast, but the challenge was being the first one to find the hidden person.

While we had fun laughing around a friendly game of "Hi-Ho-Cherrio" (as silly as it sounds), we had just as much fun stumbling through the dark. And I wonder about the effects of removing competitiveness from games. This discussion has come up countless times before (even Milton Bradley leaves No Child Left Behind), but how does a little competition harm a child's development? Isn't that the point of playing games? Since I was a kid, I have been told that "it doesn't matter if you win or lose, it matters that you have fun." I'm not going to lie; I have fun competing. And the excitement behind competition rests in the fact that you may win. If you lose, you lose, and life moves on. But what's wrong with having fun while you compete?

Go-ji-ra!

Because pictures are so much more fun than words. And because this makes me giggle.

I'm delaying the inevitable

I am supposed to be rewriting my thesis proposal. I had a phone meeting with my thesis advisor yesterday and she advised that I narrow my focus. Instead of focusing on the whole time period from the end of the war until the present, I should pick an era and use that as a case study. By doing that, I will be able to focus on that period a little better (thereby writing a better quality piece) and I will also be able to place the idea of cultural landscapes within public history. By focusing on the one aspect, too, I will leave material for a possible future dissertation. And I am planning on writing a dissertation (even though my plans change all the time... so for the record, today, June 30, 2009, I plan on going on to pursue my Ph.D.).

Shifting the direction of my thesis is a good idea and will help me in the long run; but now I am trying to mentally shift my thinking process as I plan on how exactly I'll divide my chapters. And my brain hurts. I forgot how hard it is to work for eight hours and then just jump into research (or just thinking, for that matter).

For now, how my thesis advisor advised me to narrow my thesis will help me finish the work in a timely manner. But, I have to restart my engines and start moving a different direction. And that takes energy.

And all I want to do right now is float on a boat in the middle of the big, blue, wet thing.

Tennessee VS. Peleliu (Mosquitoes)

Mosquitoes bite me. Even when people around me do not get bitten. In, fact, since I was a child mosquitoes have decided that it was not good enough just to bite me; rather, they eat me.

When I was in the Pacific, the mosquitoes came, they saw, and they most assuredly conquered. Alas, I feel like the mosquitoes here in Tennessee make those of the Pacific seem like wimpy bugs. I have several bites that have persisted for a few days (and I still have that very bad habit of scratching the tops off of my bug bites). And they hurt!

So I've got my complaining of the day out of the way. Now, back to work. I am writing my introduction of my thesis. Evidently, people find it hard to believe that some students actually write during the summer or while they are working or maybe just the time students work during the summer. I've got deadlines! And not much of a social life! I am a graduate student, this is what I do! I'm still enjoying this part, too. Minus the mosquitoes that make it impossible to enjoy doing any reading outside in the evenings.

Art Imitates Life

According to Michaelangelo, "A man paints with his brains, not with his hands." So does Maira Kalman. She has a few works that are inspired by trips around the United States. I especially appreciate this one. I may not necessarily agree with every single line, but I like how she provokes thought. I think the comments are interesting to read, as well.

Actually, I especially appreciate the comments. People are responding to essentially a pice of art. To be expected, the types of responses vary greatly. And I think that is why I appreciate Maira's work so much. She is supposed to be examining "democracy" via travels and design. Regardless of what people think about her, she has the freedom to write what she wants and everyone else has the freedom to respond.

Isn't her work in itself an expression of democracy, then?

Biking Adventures

I don't think people believe me when I tell them that I used to mountain bike. A lot. I am not sure if it is the fact that I wear make up or that I express negative feelings about sweating profusely, but I get incredulous looks a lot when I tell people that I used to be a semi-hard-core mountain biker. Clip on shoes, jerseys, the works. I used to bike for anywhere for one to four hours a day in the desert, sometimes in temperatures that reached into the triple digits. "It's a dry heat" makes it better... I've done my fair share of wiping out on bikes, too; I've done the head-over-the-handlebars-move more than once (and yes, it is as painful as it looks).

I went out on my bike today for my scheduled rove. I biked down to Fortress Rosecrans along the greenway and back mid-day. I knew I was giving the caravan tour at 2pm, so I worked my way back to the visitor center in time to prepare for that. I am not sure what possessed me to make my next decision, but while I was dripping with sweat, racing down a slight incline, I thought, "Why not give the tour on my bike?" Jim has given the tour before on his bike and the van was in use for the afternoon (so I wasn't going to have a place to put the water cooler, anyway). And if you know me, you know that I make a decision and run (or, in this case, bike) with it.

So I gave the 90 minute caravan tour on my bike. I raced between stops, engaged in more conversation at the start of each stop (to allow for me to catch my breath), and enjoyed doing it. Unfortunately, I was not able to carry all of my usual items- no water cooler or artillery pieces for demonstration.

The tour was a personal accomplishment. Jim accomplished it last fall to prove that it could be done. I wondered if I could be an effective interpreter if I was gasping for breath at each stop. I liked the idea of promoting energy conservation (even in small steps, like leading an auto-tour on a bike) and sustainability. And I like biking. I just had my doubts about my ability to do it.

I wasn't as tired as I thought I would be, either. I think I was most nervous about Dr. Frisby ("the D-Friz") accompanying the tour. I know he didn't want to make me nervous, but when a freakin' military history professor accompanies the tour, I can't tell about the helicopter campaigns or the importance of SONAR's use during the battle to fill that time. Ha ha. That was just a joke because I know he reads this. He didn't make me too nervous, after all. And I completed the auto-turned-bike-tour in one piece. I had a good day and will sleep well tonight.

Tempus fugit

Why do we say "time flies"? Where is it going? And why did it pick flight as its preferred mode of travel?

I don't know what I would do if I had more hours in a day. Maybe I would attempt more sleep. Maybe I would accomplish more studying. Maybe I'd pick up my room more often (as that is usually the last thing that I take care of when I have a deadline approaching). I do know that I fill my waking hours with productivity and still have more to do when bedtime arrives.

A week from tomorrow will be the halfway point for 2009. Whoa! Where did half of the year go!?! I thought I would be further along in my thesis than I am, but I also did not expect so much research to pop up. And if I stop and think about everything I have done and seen in the last six months, I can seriously appreciate where I am in my life.

My most recent days have been spent running early in the morning, showering and readying myself for work (which usually entails ironing my uniform, making lunch, braiding my hair, and applying makeup- all to my morning soundtrack currently involving elvis, the rolling stones, flogging molly, and of course, the killers) putting in 8+ hours at the battlefield, coming home to eat dinner (that dually serves as a brief mental break), then diving into reading or writing for my thesis before I decide it is time for bed (knowing that my schedule will repeat upon waking). I am still in the "ooo, this is fun" mode. I like writing, I am loving the story that continues to develop with the emerging primary sources, and I enjoy the challenge of trying to rest that story within the bigger context of American history and cultural landscape studies. Maybe this will get old, but for now I will continue working while the irreplaceable time escapes.

Ziplocks

Somebody had better make sure that these guys have the correct size of ziplock bags carrying any toiletries upon entering the country. Palau charges extra for the incorrect ziplock bags.