Oregon, Ohio

For me the event in Oregon, Ohio was my first taste of heaven. I rode with Noel, excitedly, heading north to the small town near Lake Erie. I asked a lot of questions and he gave me some good advice. I was only 19 at the time and I got the impression that he was trying to protect me. He told me what to expect, what was likely to happen after the sun went down, etc. I was determined to be the opposite of who I had been since childhood. I would work twice as hard, offer my hand every chance I could, learn as much as possible. I didn't know if I could do it, and yet I knew for a fact that I could.
We pulled into a grassy field behind a K-Mart where a group of guys were pitching tents, digging a fire pit and setting up a pair of canons. To my eyes there were hundreds of soldiers, guns and tons of supplies. Whole battalions of soldiers had chosen to camp here and I was just a small part of it.
In truth it was just the 9th Virginia, infantry and artillery, plus a few sharpshooters (here to for known as treefrogs) and me. I didn't know any better.
I was quickly put on tent raising duty and learned how to put one up inside out, then the right way. I was given a uniform and changed, was handed my 'cooters' which for the layman are the leather belts and shoulder straps that hold the cartridge pouch (Where the black powder and paper ladies go), the cap pouch (where the caps go, duh, little brass cups that have explosive in them), and the sheath that holds the bayonet (the sharp pointy thing that can be fixed to the top of the gun).

For those of you who have taken offense to my detailed explanations, I have had to explain these things, in this manner, plenty of times before. There are a great many folk out there that are entirely clueless as to the war that changed our nation the most, and a great many that would rather pretend as though it never happened at all. After the camp had been set up and I had a chance to settle Noel took me to the side, told me to put my cooters on and took my picture in front of the camp banners. I am eternally grateful that he did.

That afternoon I learned how to roll rounds; from making the paper ladies to filling them with black powder and folding them, or tying, or gluing, or taping. Folding works best, trust me. But I've seen all manner of ways to keep them together, including crazy glue.



Noel was good enough to take photos of me. One of the things I was in a hurry to learn was how to roll my own rounds. Here some of the other guys learn me the ropes.



  I went through about an hour or so of drill with the other fresh fish of the year, learning manual of arms, marching drill, and so on.






A - Cartridge Pouch, B - You can hardly see it but, Cap Pouch, C - My 1863 Springfield, D - Bayonet, E - Canteen, a must for battles!, F - The strap for my haversack.

 I discovered that I was going to develop a bruise, or a callous, on my left shoulder that summer, and every summer, from the constant weight and impact of my gun.
That night we did dinner over the fire and I discovered the hobby within a hobby that is practiced by the majority of reenactors. Beveraging. There is always beverage. Beverage of many kinds as well. There is potato juice, grape juice, apple juice, barley juice...even blueberry juice, all of which has been accidentally left in a cool, dark place for too long and since reenactors are conscientious about wasting things, they bring these over ripe juices with them to share.
While reenactors are free with beverage and with their woven leaves of choice, they are law abiding citizens as much as they can be and I have never seen an adult giving overripe juices to an under aged person knowingly.
Reenactors are caring, loving and law abiding. Most of them are anyway. But with all manner of life and with all other hobbies there are rotten apples. We'll get to those in a bit. And those apples, by the way, usually aren't the kind that ripen into beverage.
 If you have never slept outside over night and woken up to the sun rising, the smell of fresh dew on the grass, the sound of birds and wind and everything fresh and new, do it! I dare you. Summer, winter, spring and fall, pick a morning that you can stand and sleep out overnight. Every season has its pleasures.
Even better are the nights that host tornadoes, wind storms, thunder and lightning storms, drowning rain, twenty below wind shear, hoards of mosquitoes in extreme heat and any other weather condition you can imagine. Somehow the morning always brings a reprieve.
My first night as a reenactor was mild, I woke with the sun and went out to the fire dreading waiting for hours while the others decided to wake. To my surprise and delight there was someone already out by the fire, feeding the coals and putting the day's first cup of coffee on. My first reason for loving this hobby. When I'm sleeping out I wake with the sun. Once the sun is up, I am up. And I hate sitting through the first few hours of awakeness, alone, slowly getting tired again, so that I'm grumpy and ignored for the rest of the day. I hate that! You will always find more than a handful of early risers in the reenacting community.
The other thing I learned was the vast importance of the porter johns, and the importance of their proximity to your tent. You don't want them too close, especially on a warm day. You don't want them miles away, especially at a bigger event where they are in more use. If you can get a flushy toilet, you're a king!
I've been sick in a porter john, boiling in a porter john while I change into a ball gown, freezing to the death in a porter john while I regret getting out of my blankets because I desperately had to pee, even used porter johns for cover in the heat of battle (outside, not inside). Very important, those porter johns. And even more important are the honey dippers...those wonderful maintenance trucks and the fine workers that drive and operate them, making the toilets clean and sparkling and sweet smelling after a day (or worse, two days!) of use. I have never been forced to dig a hole in the ground for the sake of ablutions, and I hope never to.
The event was only a two day-er. We had a few battles to do Saturday and then we could wander around the car show that was the reason for our being there. I can't remember if we had much of an audience or not, but I didn't care.
It's called seeing the elephant when a soldier goes into his/her first battle. We call it the same as reenactors for two reasons;
One - We're re-enacting battles...that means re-doing, re-being, re-existing. In the midst of the thing with explosions all around and people shouting and the real danger that something might explode unexpectedly and take off a limb, you get to a point where you sink or swim. You panic, or you find that curious calm. To all the war torn veterans out there, at least with reenacting, I've never been shot at, but I have been in a life or death struggle, and the way I reacted to reenacting (I guess) contributed to the way I reacted when my true battle did come.
Two -It's an easy qualifier that marks you as no longer 'fresh-fish'.
I remember being excited about the battle, learning quickly how to load as fast as I could, while running; and at one point having the Captain reach back and lift my gun barrel up away from the ground, telling me not to turn it down that way because all the powder will roll out the end. Afterwards I glowed when the Captain told me I was a good soldier. I had never wanted so great a compliment, so badly, in my life.
On my way home I excitedly called my father, told him how much I had loved every minute, and proposed that he spend $200, which I promised to pay back, to buy me a uniform and cooters. I had been told that I could use the gun I had used at Oregon since it was the Captain's gun and he wouldn't need it. I was going to be a reenactor!!