We’ve Arrived!

Last week, I went to Mount Eagle for a retreat and forgot to let my wife know that I arrived safely. Whoops…

My wife simply texted me to see if I arrived, and within seconds, I was able to let her know that I had done so. This is nothing compared to the “timely” importance of correspondence between spouses during the American Civil War. Colonel Lyon’s wife, Adelia, must have been very relieved to receive this via snail mail:

New Orleans, Fri., July 14, 1865.—We arrived here at eight o’clock this morning, sound and well. I found that our corps have moved and are moving for Indianola, Texas. Our division went several days ago. Lieutenant Fowle and I leave tomorrow on steamer Zenobia. [Source: DOTCW]

I imagine spouses, parents, sibling, friends, etc. must have worried a lot about their loved ones fighting in the war as well as traveling so much. What’s worse, they had to wait so long to receive word that they actually arrived. What other thoughts they must have had among their prayers for their beloved soldiers.

Perhaps Adelia worried further about her dear William Lyon having to ride a “steamer” that could have been fired upon or even captured and burned. How relieved she must have been by each incoming letter. Thank God, he’s still alive!

Until next time, let ’em know you made it safe!

The Whole Shebang

So, I’m having a conversation one day with my firstborn daughter (4 years old) when she realizes that a “navel” can be your belly button or a type of orange. Likewise, in reading American Civil War diary entries, I recognized that “shebang” can mean “a matter, operation, or set of circumstances” or “a rough hut or shelter.”

The Whole Shebang (Photo: michaelshannon.wordpress.com)

Although not an enlisted man, Samuel Andrew Agnew wrote from the perspective of a resident in Corinth, MS of the war’s goings on there, noting that current operations needed to change:

Seals were in the crowd. Norton tells me that Jettie Richey got home last night from Ham’s Camp. He reports that on Saturday next they will reorganize the whole “shebang” in pursuance of Gov. Clark’s orders. In reorganizing they enlist for 2 years. (Source: The Civil War Day by Day)

Shebang can also be the most humble dwelling quarters of a weary soldier during the war. I’m always amazed at the details at length that soldiers recorded in order to paint a clear picture of their temporary residence. I think this reflects the significance of their need for a home away from home. Our bodies need familiarity, I think, when it comes to the specific place where we lay our heads every night. More so, I believe soldiers needed this comfort, considering the fact that the nature of their circumstances could change at a minute’s notice. If you will, a change in one’s shebang could alter their other shebang. This is what “Jenk” writes about his setup:

Busy most of the time completing “shebang”. Very small, but quite cozy for two soldiers. It is 6 ft. by 8 ft., 4½ ft. high on the side. Door is in front, 18 in. by 30 in., by side of which is chimney—18 in. stack. Bunk in back, 4 ft. wide. At the foot of it is the writing desk, opposite is hardtack box for cupboard, etc. (Source: Daily Observations from the Civil War)

Until next time, SHEBANG!

Civil War Thanksgiving Reflections

We always think of eating turkey on Thanksgiving day, but sometimes people choose to eat other meats instead.

Complete Holiday Dinners

For instance, my stepdad does not like eating turkey at all. He doesn’t like the taste. So, we’ll graciously provide a cooked ham for him to eat for “turkey” day.

As I was scrolling through soldiers’ diaries reflecting on Thanksgiving, I found that some had to choose not to eat turkey, because it simply was not available to them at the time. Take poor Luman Harris Tenney for example:

Thanksgiving chickens for dinner… Considerable dissatisfaction among the boys. Band played some time. (Source: Daily Observations From the Civil War)

Something tells me Tenney wasn’t the only one hoping for turkey that year. But, at least the boys had chicken and some entertainment.

I hope wherever you were, whomever you were with, and whatever meat you ate that you had a wonderful Thanksgiving day, praising God for all He has given us. I thought yesterday’s weather in Shreveport, LA was gorgeous and all around, I had as good a time as Rutherford B. Hayes had back in the day:

We had a jovial Thanksgiving. A fair supply of turkeys and other good things from the cities, together with good weather, made the day cheerful. (Source: Daily Observations From the Civil War)

Until next year, Give Thanks!

 

Hot Letter Abe

I’ve heard of this practice before and have even written a “hot letter” myself, but I never would have expected to hear that good ole’ Abe (President Abraham Lincoln) made a habit of doing so!

Illustration by Jason Stout

I recently finish reading Incarnate by Michael Frost, where he points out that Lincoln was a great leader primarily for his non-anxious presence among others. Often quoted for saying “I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends,” Lincoln had a way of being patient with people of differing views.

Frost notes that, in order to curb his negative emotions, Lincoln would write “a ‘hot letter’ to the individual he was angry with, and then he would set the letter aside and not send it. If he did lose his temper, Lincoln would follow up with a kind gesture or letter to let the individual know he was not holding a grudge.” (Incarnate, pg. 202)

Knowing that Lincoln had faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, I wonder if his non-anxious presence was in fact a reflection of the fruits of the Spirit working in and through his life, particularly forbearance, self-control, kindness, and well, we might want to place them all on the table! I also wonder how better off we’d all be if we were to adopt the “hot letter” habit when something or someone made us mad, then jump right back into the relationship in pure love.

Until next time, Rage on paper, not toward each other…

Garage Sale Find!

This past weekend, we had a neighborhood-wide garage sale. In sifting through things my mother-in-law gave us to sell, I found a book called Stringtown by Zora M. Talbot. Man, have I stumbled on a rarity!

Stringtown

Aside from being out of print on Amazon and out of stock on Half.com, this book is entitled after a town in Texas that no longer exists. From what I’ve gathered, it seems as though the town was absorbed by San Marcos, TX (right outside of San Antonio) somewhere between the 19th and 20th century as a result of a new railroad bringing tremendous growth to the area.

According to one source, “In 1990 the only surviving evidences of old Stringtown were a log cabin once used as a slave quarters, the former home of Gideon Thomas Johnson built in 1879, and the Pitts Cemetery.” (Texas State Historical Association) Can you say, “GHOST TOWN!”

Of course this relates in some way to the American Civil War, don’t you worry. I found a few nuggets in Part II of the book (Disasters, Civil War, Reconstruction) that I’ll have to share in subsequent posts. But for now, I learned that there was more than one coffee substitute used during the war, other than the chicory that I’m familiar with, having grown up in New Orleans.

Food was very scarce – flour, sugar, and coffee almost impossible to buy. Sweet potatoes were parched and, at times, rye and okra beans were used as substitute for coffee. When a real delicacy was wanted the slaves were sent to the mountains in search of a ‘bee tree.’ They would cut the tree down and remove many pounds of rich wild honey from the center of the trunk. This honey was used in cooking and to sweeten the substitute coffee. (Talbot, 50)

Until next time, Drink what ya got…

Don’t Complain; Count Your Mercies & Be Thankful

I worked for the grocery store Kroger just before I became a pastor. One particular day, I did not want to go to work. Instead, I wanted to have a bad attitude for the day ahead.

Photo Source: Herald-Review

Instead, like David Lane who served under the 17th Michigan Volunteer Infantry in the Civil War, I took someone’s advice and found I had a lot to be thankful for! Here’s what Lane was grateful for:

A dear old lady acquaintance of mine used to say, ‘Whenever you are downhearted and disposed to complain, just sit right down and count your mercies.’ I have been counting my mercies today, and find I have many things to be thankful for. Instead of being half starved, I have now plenty of food… I am now well dressed… I have a good bed, with two white sheets… I am clean, for I wash and change clothing often… Last, but not least, I am in good health, because God has bestowed upon me this priceless boon [friend]. (Source: Daily Observations From the Civil War)

While I’m not against taking advice from old ladies with whom I’m not well acquainted with, the person I took advice from the day I didn’t want to go to work (who I consider to be the greatest “priceless boon” anyone can have!) was Jesus Christ.

Background: I was driving to work in Kentucky snow and ice, looking through the small part of the windshield that was defrosted (so I didn’t get in a wreck or make it to work late), and dreading having to go to work, unloading and stocking 3 times the amount of product we normally did. We were also shorthanded; a co-worker called in just that morning. (There was so much more here that gave me reason to complain, but that’s not the point!)

Somehow, I sensed I needed to pray about my work day. So, I told Jesus all about my frustrations about having to go to work that day. Then, he simply asked me “What are you thankful for?” Ok, Lord. Great… I was wanting to complain… But here goes.

“I’m thankful for this car, which is working now and getting me to work. I’m thankful for being alive and able to walk and the like. I’m thankful for my family; for a sweet wife and lovely daughter. I’m thankful for a warm apartment and for you providing us with it. I’m thankful for my job (insert abrupt pause in prayer and hand over mouth)”

That day, I realized that the very thing I was wanting to complain about (work) was something I was really grateful for. I was able to go to work, recognizing all of the gifts God had given me that day, especially life.

I wonder if anyone who bemoaned life in the American Civil War ever came to the realization that they were actually thankful just to be alive. What are you thankful for in your life?

Until next time, Count your Mercies…

Washita River or Ouachita River?

Reading history, especially hundreds of years prior, I notice words spelled differently sometimes. I recently observed that Ouachita used to be spelled Washita.

Ouachita River: Buckhorn Bend

I realized this occurrence while reading Frank Moore’s The Rebellion Record – A Diary of American Events:

The Washita River expedition, consisting of the greater part of General Logan’s old Brigade, a regiment of cavalry, and a battery of artillery, returned to Vicksburgh from the portion of Louisiana lying adjacent to Washita River. No organized force of the rebels could be found. (Source: Daily Observations From the Civil War)

It took me a while to figure out when the word was changed, but here’s what I discovered:

  • Indian tribes (Washita, Caddo, Osage, Tensas, Chickasaw and Choctaw) lived along the Washita River.
  • “Washita” is an Indian word translated “river of good hunting grounds” or “river of sparkling silver water.”
  • The first French settlers renamed it “Ouachita” in the early 1700’s, according to Ouachita River Foundation.

I was fascinated that an Indian tribe thought this river was so awesome that they decided to name themselves Washita as well. It is quite understandable, however, seeing as I have witnessed the majesty of the now Ouachita River, which runs through the city (Monroe) where I currently reside. Furthermore, the river must have held such significance to the people living here back then, since the parish in which I live is also named after it.

From River to Clan, From County to Parish:

The Ouachita were a small clan, apparently belonging to the Caddoan family, who resided on the Ouachita river in the northeastern part of Louisiana. At the close of the seventeenth century they numbered five cabins and about seventy men; but their identity seems to have been quite early lost in that of other tribes.

The name of the Ouachita Indians lives in that of the parish and of a river. The original county of Ouachita was established in 1805; it became a parish in 1807, with an area much smaller than that of the old county. (Source: Louisiana Place Names of Indian Origin, pages 49-50)

I could literally keep writing about the Washita River; how it was used during the American Civil War, what type of boat dominated this waterway and why, or how long it extends through this geographic location:

Ouachita River: Borders

But until next time, check this out & Spell Check…