re: Today is the 162nd anniversary of Pickett's Charge...

I was there...at the 145th anniversary reenactment.

So much planning for years and so much time waiting until the day of departure. Two nights of stopping at friends' and acquaintances' homes on the way up to Pennsylvania. Imagining the touring and meeting people, walking in an unknown ancestor's footsteps. Kicking arse and leading some glorious charge. Camping out and making memories.

Upon arrival, after a stay at a boy scout facility and eating MRE's and sharing memories you didn't know then would stay with you for decades, you make a brutal equipment lug, or three, just to get to camp. The nights you don't even remember, but Bob's poison ivy, running out of money, and the endless rain you do. You don't even remember all the fights. But you remember touring by truck, seeing the deadliest places, looking straight up little round top and suddenly respecting the Confederates' mortal seven charges even more than Michigan's famous defense. You see where your unit could have taken the whole battle at dusk of day one, in eyesight of some modern McDonald's.

And you remember one fight, the first.

You fall into line of your modest company of familiar faces as you've done time and again. Then march out. At captain's orders, you meander beyond where you came in, to some road you don't know and must trust that Cap knows. You coalesce with strangers unfamiliar, in ragtag uniforms, who are comrades of circumstance.

There are infinite people of infinite backgrounds. You've never met them. You'll never speak to them. Hell, many will be dead by day's end. These are people as strange to me as the New Yorker I'm sent to shoot. Accents as strange. Or at least, partly. But this is my team, folks who have traveled near as far and won and lost as much as I have. Strangers in life; brothers in fatigue, beyond poetic words or political cause.

It's overcast, and muggy. It's almost misty, and possibly it will rain. It's not uncomfortable, even in the wool. We're from the deep south. But the further we go, the less we see.

At our destination, we become part of rows of men, and boys as I was then. And more rows. Rows in front, and rows behind. Captain's orders to get us to the field. Passing units standing still, and units passing us as we then wait on nothing. Face to the front, and you think to look around. In front of those in front of you is mist. Behind you is the same. To the left are more and more, and more, coming to set about you. To the right are those who've been waiting.

There is no place to leave if you wanted.

Now comes the noise, of the soul. Clanking of canteens and late-arriving companies, about which is the silent, roaring buzz of anticipation. Where go we next? When do we shoot? Where does the fun really start? A colonel just out of sight mutters excitedly, meaningfully, but your captain maintains. So no action yet. Then your captain trots off with meaning, but no distant order is given, so no action yet? Some commotion goes out of sight, and you don't know if it's a nearing comrade or a close Yankee.

And as simple as flipping a coin, units move, and so does yours, forward, and calmly comes the command. Peppered shots ahead. Then louder volleys, and you wonder when you'll be "in" the action.

Some return fire from what must be your side near ahead and you realize, foolishly late, that this is the moment. Ahead is the maw. Behind is a wall. Too far left and right is the alley to flee before you are shot as a deserter. Just in case you thought about it.

But already, the moment when you could die. You have already been extended grace. Already past is the moment when you are near enough, over a protective hill, beyond the front two lines of companies, to the hive of lead coming to send you to God. You may have imagined cresting the hill to see your enemy and steel yourself in a massive breath for the fight. But before you realized, chaos was already about you, like a boa constrictor in the night that wakes you from a nightmare to death itself.

Now you grip as a loved one your gun and wish your captain to order us to fire, if but into the hazy mist, into your fellow soldiers' backs. Now is self preservation and seeking victory at all costs in one instant.

At some point you see the flash. At first from your side then from theirs. They want you dead. They mean you violence. They feel what you feel. And scattered lead seeks children as well as men. This is a rock and a hard place. And there is naught but to push forward. So shoot you do, and fast and hard and you seek to get off 10 rounds to their one. You rebel yell, and it's for freedom and ancestors but it's also in a terrible frenzy to let them know that you'll fight, god love you and the devil take 'em, you'll fight just to live and you will die trying to live. And that's where the memory mostly ends.

Then you wake up some 20 years later and hug your baby. You remember fun memories made with your friend you buried shortly after the fight (for unrelated reasons). You remember the people you dont talk to anymore, laugh with the few you still do. You see "new" wars start. You see arguments about the one you "fought" in, and you know most weren't there and don't know what really happened and why.

And you more greatly respect your WWII and Korean and Vietnam vet family members, and those from newer wars you see and ancestors of ancient wars you've never heard of. And you know war is hell and everyone has each their own reasons.

So you pray for all, the good guys and bad. And you extend mercy and know that some wars are more valid than others, but none are necessary.

You grow closer to God and appreciate the little things. You understand freedom is eternally under attack.

You decide there are a few eternal truths, some of which are: war is hell, extend some mercy, and Geaux Tigahs.

Reenacting matters.

As others have said, photos don't do the field justice. You get chills walking toward the trees from Lee's statue as well as looking down from Little Round Top towards Devils Den, the wheat field, the peach orchard all of it can be emotionally overwhelming for anyone with an interest in history. Everyone should visit Gettysburg, it's awesome