Spring and the Civil War

Sunday morning we awoke to warm yellow sunshine streaming in through the window. And my blankets felt awfully hot. I threw them off and... what?! It wasn't chilly at all! I sprang to the window to see what awaited, and there I saw... SPRING! It had hopped through the Ohio River Valley to remind us that there was life beyond the dreary freezing rain and slush.

In the afternoon, I begged and cajoled and batted my eyes and miraculously convinced Michael to skip his afternoon nap and instead come on a springtime trek with me. I threw on my favorite short-sleeve white cotton summer blouse, comfiest corduroy pants, and the baby, and we all went for a joyous afternoon stroll/photo-op to Rose Hill Cemetary.

Rose Hill Cemetary claims a few little rolling hills tucked away in downtown Newburgh behind a wrought iron fence. My favorite cemetaries are the old ones, with leaning headstones and washed-off scriptural tributes. We wandered among the stones and gleefully searched for the oldest, the saddest, the most beautiful, while a family of mother/daughter/son played Confederates vs. Yankees with a shiny new cannon that had been thrown in the mix as a memorial to dead patriots from many years past.

Their play seemed especially appropriate when I wandered down a small gully, past a huge pile of dead foliage from the winter storms, and around a hill to find, tucked in the corner, a plot full of old Civil War soldiers. A few flimsy flags leaned to the right and to the left, a whimsical tribute to the men who lay below. Sticking up from the soil, worn away from our recent rains, I saw tattered remnants from flags put there long, long ago, now brown with age. Several metal garbage barrels had rolled down among the debris-strewn graves, right next to a hard metal fence labeled "No Trespassing." It didn't seem the proper place for men like those to rest. I wonder if they were from the North or South. There's no telling here, right on the Mason Dixon line.

In the happy sunlight, they seemed restful there, even amid the bedraggled flags and garbage. I suppose they aren't really living here in the cemetary, anyway, and probably don't come back to visit much unless there's family to see.