Last week while Little Man and his family were visiting due to being evacuated for Hurricane Dorian, we took little day trips. He is a smart Little Man and is interested in a myriad of things. So, with this in mind, we went to visit Cowpens Battlefield here in the area.
Having visited the battlefield once before, I knew there was a film that told about the battle in the visitor’s center. We watched the film and at the end of the film there was a statement, “in the time it took to watch this film, the battle was over.” I had forgotten that part. The film was less than an hour long. That statement started my mind going for the rest of the visit.
We walked along a trail through the battlefield, and my mind kept going back to the length of the battle. Along the way were markers that talked about the battle, with sketches and diagrams as to where you were.
In each of the markers, with the sketches of the battle were what the background could have looked like. There were saplings that were portrayed, and fields. The saplings caught my eye, for where they were in the sketch, in reality there were large trees. These trees, at least some of them, could have been there when this battle took place.
This tree caught my eye, obviously, since I took a picture of it. The bark on it was twisted and it was fascinating to look at.
The image of this tree has not left my mind since our visit. If trees could talk, what would this one say? Was it a sapling in 1781? Or was it a sapling during the Civil War? How many people have picnicked underneath it? How many couples used this tree as a place to meet? How many times has this tree been climbed? What has this tree heard in it’s lifetime? Promises made, promises broken? Epitaphs? Declarations of love and or hate? All of this has rumbled around my mind.
This battle, short as it was, made history. This field, once a place used solely for cattle, is now a national place. This field is honored, people come to this field to learn, to remember our history, to reflect how our country came about. Yet, these silent sentinels remain where all can see. These trees, at least some of them, witnessed the events we learn about in visits like these.
When I look at trees, and as you have guessed, I love trees, I think of wisdom. Trees outlast us. They put their roots deep into the ground. They survive storms and winds, snow and hail. They stand tall during rain, they soak up what they need. They shed leaves, they bloom new ones. They provide shade, they provide protection, they provide.
In short, I truly would like to be like a tree. Someone who may look a little gnarled on the outside, but is full of wisdom, protection, and provision. A place where people can come and unload, vent, or just sit quietly while being refreshed.
Thanks for stopping by today. I appreciate you. Cathi (DAF)