Angel of Mercy

OK, this is sappy time. I hate sappy time. I like trying to be insightful, I like to try to put the pieces together. I like trying to be observant, I like pointing out things that might not be obvious. And I love being snarky, cynical, humorous, and rebellious. But, due to the subject matter, I can’t be anything else but sappy today.

Clara Barton National Historic Site is truly unique amongst all of the historic sites in the National Park System. To my knowledge, it is the only site that was originally built with honorable, selfless intentions. I can think of no other site that was built upon as many good intentions as the collection of buildings erected by Clara Barton and her American Red Cross organization on the outskirts of Washington, DC.

This is a site where a visit really drives home the point of the person or organization it honors. It is a fairly sizable estate, but every building was built for a single purpose: helping people in trouble, whether from war or disaster or hardship. It was built 25 years after the Civil War, where Clara Barton aided the wounded at the horrific battles of Manassas, Antietam, Fredericksburg and others. It was built 20 years after her trip to Europe, where she first heard the ideals of the International Red Cross. It was built 10 years after she took those ideals back to the States and founded the American Red Cross. It is a set of buildings that exudes from their very timbers the goodwill, helpfulness, and sympathy that comes from a caring heart.

Clara Barton’s home doesn’t have a magnificent name, she was beyond such vainglorious honorifics. It’s not lined in comfort or affluence, she was neither born into wealth nor had a desire to accumulate it. It doesn’t even have any remarkable architectural elements, such things are trivialities compared with the sufferings of man. What her home did have were dozens of bedrooms, lots of storage and warehouses, proximity to Washington, DC, and easy access to the main byways of the nation. On her property, she could house those left homeless by disaster, stockpile and ships tons of emergency supplies, and lobby Washington endlessly on behalf of those who needed help.

The remarkable thing about Clara Barton’s home is it was, indeed, her home. So she lived amongst all of these charitable activities day in and day out. She truly committed her entire life to it. She wasn’t some rich philanthropist who gave cash to charity and head out for steak tartare with her socialite friends. She wasn’t some politician who cuts a ribbon at an AIDS clinic and skeedaddles before the sick people show up. She was there, with her operation, day and night, night and day. This was truly a remarkable woman.

Now it has been said that Clara Barton could also be a terrible taskmaster and, frankly, a real bitch. I also know that the Red Cross has not had a sterling reputation throughout its entire history (witness the scandals after 9/11 and Katrina). And, when I was younger, I personally talked to WWII veterans who hated the Red Cross (I think the Red Cross was useless when families fraught with disaster needed to urgently track down soldier sons & husbands). But, in my opinion, no other charitable American had both the kindness of heart, and the spirit and determination, to help as many people as Clara Barton did.

I challenge any reader to think of any other NPS site that is built upon as many good intentions as Clara Barton’s home in Glen Echo, Maryland. If you want to nominate one, please post a comment and we’ll talk about it!

[For some reason, I don't have any pictures from my visit to Clara Barton NHS. I know I owned a digital camera, but I must have run out of memory on my disk or something. It was the first year I owned one, so I probably screwed up somehow. A wholly reasonable notion, based on the operator . Pictures on this post are public domain photos courtesy of Wikipedia.]

Links:

Clara Barton National Historic Site

American Red Cross

Apharesis (This is an alternative way to donate blood, where you donate the life-saving platelets & plasma but you keep your own red blood cells. This means it doesn’t tire you out like regular blood donation. If you’re an eligible blood donor, try it out. I do it regularly and like it. Frankly, it’s the only way I can relax for an hour or so in this hectic-assed world )

Google map to Clara Barton NHS

Babies on the Rocks
Little Catoctin Mountain Park is sort of a red-headed stepchild of the National Park System. It’s just a “park”, not a “national park” nor a “national monument” nor a “national historic park” nor any other such designation. It doesn’t have any grand natural wonders: no canyons, no snow-capped peaks, no staggering escarpments, no 2,000-year old trees. It doesn’t have herds of buffalo, grizzly bears, elk, or endangered manatees. Maybe a few bald eagles, that’s about it.

It does fit two good niches, however. First, a portion of Catoctin was carved out and turned into the Presidential retreat of Camp David, site of important moments in American history from FDR’s war councils, to the Sadat-Begin summit in ‘78, to Iraq war lie crafting by the Bush administration. I’m sure having a National Park Service site as a neighbor helps with Camp David’s security and secrecy (although ask any pizza delivery guy in the area and you’ll get instant directions to the place, proving that even the greatest military power in world history still travels on its stomach).

The second, and in my opinion more important, niche that Catoctin fills is it’s status as a destination campground available to millions of people in the greater Baltimore-Washington metropolis. I’m a firm believer that everyone should have access to the great outdoors, especially those in the big cities who might otherwise not even think about trees & forests. In Catoctin’s case, it provides access for millions in just an hour’s drive or so. It certainly seemed quite popular when I visited: the campground area was nearly sold out, and dozens of folks were hiking the trails.

There’s a popular spot in Catoctin called Wolf Rock, a flat granite expanse full of cool nooks & crannies. Hopping over all the crevices is pretty entertaining, especially for the pre-teens in the crowd. Boys and girls alike were having all sorts of fun clambering over the rocks and jumping the various pits & cracks in the rock face. Just good, old-fashioned, dangerous fun, the kind kids have been having for hundreds of years. I’m not one of those adults who think kids should be prevented from having dangerous fun, the danger is part of the fun and needs to be embraced by kids. After all, it’s healthier than sitting in a sheltered environment playing video games. Let’s see: a slight risk of a head injury, or a near certain future of obesity and Type 2 diabetes? I’ll take the craggy rocks, thank you.

But let’s get realistic here. After my own brief experience hopping craggy rocks (much more difficult on 40-year-old joints than 12-year-old joints), I headed back to the trail. I passed a group of young adults with backpacks, obviously ready for their own turn on Wolf Rock. Turning for a polite “good morning” to my fellow park enthusiasts, I noticed one of them actually had a baby on a backpack carrier, ready to walk on craggy Wolf Rock! Now I think kids need to be exposed to the risks of the world, and I don’t think parents of young children should be captive in their own homes, but come on! It’s a craggy rock face full of sharp points and deep crevices, and you bring your baby with you? Come on, kiddies! You’re parents now, show some responsibility, for God’s sake! Taking the baby into the woods is fine, but be careful where you’re walking, folks.

I’ve seen lots of people doing stupid things in the National Parks, but bringing a baby onto Wolf Rock is definitely in the Top Ten Stupidest list.

[All pics on this post are mine and copyrighted thusly. This is just about the extent of my pics of Catoctin, however. It's a nice spot, to be sure, it's just not particularly photogenic. A couple more photos can be found here]

Links:

Catoctin Mountain Park

Brief History of Camp David

Google map to Catoctin Mountain Park

Love the Ocean … Hate Love the Beach

I love the ocean. I just love the vastness of it all (similar to my love of the Great Plains). I love the power of it, how it carves and weathers the rock and land around it. I love how it can create storms of such immensity men cower in fear, and how it also provides a tremendous bounty for mankind to eat. I love how it’s the giver of life, for we all can trace our roots back to its nutrient-rich waters. I love the serenity of it, how the waves lap the shores in a soothing, rhythmic, sexual fashion. The sea caresses the land, then, during moments of great power, parts the shoals and penetrates inward, over and over and over and …

Um, wait, where was I? Oh yes …

I love the ocean, but I hate the beach. I really can’t stand it, and it’s not just because I’m a fair-skinned freak who fries easily. It’s also not because it’s freakin’ hot (but that doesn’t help). I hate the beach because most of them are crowded, and filthy, and full of miscreants. Here’s a question: why do Goths hang out at the beach, going out of their way to alienate people? Aren’t they pretending to be vampires or something? Can’t they hang out in caves? Why do they hang out at the beach?

For that matter, why do bikers in full leather hang out at the beach? Don’t they cook in their black outfits? I don’t think that percolating in one’s own filth in a black leather suit is a great idea. And why do people squeeze into bathing suits against all the rules of physics to lay in the sun and broil themselves? Is the baked-potato look really that fashionable? Yeah, sure, there’s occasional eye candy at the beach, but for every hot babe, there are a dozen drunken louts frying their brain cells while aggravating all who pass. Bah!

Beaches are a pain to get to, impossible to park at, and surrounded by the sleaziest bars, restaurants, and crip-crap shops imaginable. Try to get a decent burger, or a good beer, or anything else, on a beach strip. Just ain’t gonna happen, not at a good price, anyway. And I dare you to walk across a beach without stepping on a cigarette butt … it’s mathematically impossible, I’m sure Stephen Hawking would agree.

Or, if you do find a beautiful beach, odds are it’s blockaded by tony, extravagant homes, owned by slimewads who think their money puts their beach rights over everyone else’s (well la dee dah). Why don’t the hurricanes target those dipweeds and leave the poor folks alone … if they want the beach to themselves, they can have the ruddy cyclones to themselves, too.

I originally planned to avoid all the National Seashores under the National Park System because of my natural antipathy to beaches. I figured the NPS just protected the little sliver of land between ocean and the t-shirt shop, and the rest was up for grabs by Goths and snobs. Who needs that?

Assateague Island changed my mind.

Assateague Island is a barrier island south of Ocean City, Maryland. It has a strip of beautiful, pristine beach that stretches for miles and miles. It’s totally clean, almost totally natural, and (at least when I was there) unencumbered by throngs of beach-goers. Yes, there are people, but on the day I went, I walked down two miles of gorgeous beachfront, just me and the sea and the birds. It was a gorgeous day, sunny yet temperate, breezy yet quiet. Yes, there were a few people, but they kept to themselves, and I to myself, all of us thoroughly enjoying one of the most spectacular stretches of land on the East Coast.

Assateague is a place where you can absolutely just stand in one spot, and stare out at the ocean, and wonder just what the heck is over that horizon. Looking back, I’m not even sure if I saw any shipping. I may be romantizing the island too much, but seriously, I can’t recall seeing anything: no freighters, no jet-skis, no parasailers, nothing. Nothing but birds, and seashells, and sand dollars, and that’s it. No industrial sounds, either. No horns, no ghetto blasters, nothing but wind and waves and that’s it.

The other side of Assateague is bounded by the Chincoteague Bay. Although the western side does have its share of boat docks and marinas, the eastern side, against the island, is still pristine and beautiful. Rent a kayak and spend an hour or two paddling around all the inlets and coves, it’s a great way to spend an afternoon. It was past bird-migration time when I was there, but there were still plenty of egrets, pelicans, and storks to see.

Of course, Assateague is most famous for its wild horses. Apparently, a couple of centuries ago, local farmers abandoned their horses on the island (perhaps in an early tax evasion scheme), and they thrived and bred on the island (smaller, of course, because of Foster’s Rule). Today, descendants of these horses remain.

I wanted to find these horses and snap some pictures of them in their environment. So I beat through the brush and walked along the waterways, hoping to take some spectacular photos. Oddly, though, they were nowhere to be seen … until I stumbled across an RV campground. There they were … eating scraps left for them by campers, totally against NPS rules. Yep, even on remote, protected Assateague Island, people have to muck around with nature. People just can’t leave things be, can they? No, they have to get their perfect picture from the comfort of their folding chair, while idiots like me traipse through the woods, trying to see wildlife as nature intended.

OK, to be fair, these horses aren’t really there as nature intended. Man put the horses on the island and left them there, but still, it would be cool to see them just living on their own, instead of begging for scraps at mankind’s overladen table. I did take some pics, I had to use some clever angles and cropping to make them look “native”. Such a shame.

I guess even the pristine beaches have their share of spoilers.

[See more of my Assateague photos, plus a couple from other sites in the area (including Atlantic City, where I won $2K at the slots -- I don't just hang around in the woods, ya know) here.]

Links:

Assateague Island National Seashore

Clean Beaches Council

Google map to Assateague Island

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Just for the heck of it, here’s a picture of a sand toad…

Failure In Success

Antietam is one of the great battles of the American Civil War, involving 130,000 soldiers (infantry, cavalry, and artillery). There’s only one way to describe the Battle of Antietam: a bloody, awful mess. It is remembered in history as the single, deadliest one-day battle ever fought on American soil. The Union won the field that day, in spite of bad command decisions by General George McClellan and his field commanders. Lee was driven away, his weaker numbers unable to take victory, despite his own tactical brilliance. By the end of the day, over 3600 men were dead, and another 19,000 injured (and likely dead shortly thereafter, thanks to medical practices in the 19th century). A bloody, awful mess, indeed.

A lot of men died in the Civil War. Over 600,000 men gave their lives on the field of battle through the course of the war, and (as always happens in war) an uncountable number of civilians lost theirs as well. But Antietam holds another special place in American history. The pre-Grant Union Army could do what only the pre-Grant Union Army could do: it snatched defeat from the claws of victory. If Gen. McClellan was any kind of able commander, instead of the pompous ass he was, he would have crushed the Confederate army right then and there, and ended the war within 18 months of its inception at Fort Sumter. But McClellan lacked something that defines winners from losers: energy and drive. He allowed his forces (thousands of whom didn’t even fire a shot) to rest on their laurels while Robert E. Lee’s men retreated southward. If only McClellan had acted then and there, and whupped Lee in the fields of Maryland, the war would have been over.

I really want to let that soak in a bit. If McClellan had acted, the Battle of Fredericksburg would not have happened (2,000 dead). Spotsylvania would not have happened (4,000 dead). Chancellorsville would not have happened (est. 5,000 dead). Chickamauga would not have happened (est. 6,000 dead). The Battle of Gettysburg would not have happened (8,000 dead). Richmond would not have been sacked and looted. New York would not have had its draft riots. Atlanta would not have been burned to the ground. Virginia would not have had its entire countryside scoured by war. And maybe an assassin would not have claimed the life of the greatest President we ever had.

But McClellan sat on his lazy ass, Lee got away, and country had three more years of war. Good job, Georgie!

I suppose there is success in failure as well. One good thing came out of Antietam (beyond McClellan’s immediate firing): Lincoln’s most famous, yet most misunderstood, act — the Emancipation Proclamation. Lincoln had been working on it for some time, but needed the right moment to release it. As lame as McClellan’s actions were, he gave Lincoln that moment: a Union victory over the Confederate army. Lincoln released his document to the public, gave a wonderful speech, and America turned a vital corner away from slavery (read more commentary on Lincoln and the Emancipation Proclamation here).

Walk the Path of History

Even though I love the National Park Service and the sites they protect, I have to admit: many of the Civil War sites are nearly undecipherable. You have to really use your imagination to envision the order of battle or the strategic importance of the terrain. It’s hard to imagine a line of Union artillery in a Wendy’s parking lot. What were they firing at, the Avis Car Rental?

Antietam, on the other hand, is a great park to envision an old battle. The Dunker Church still stands, the Cornfield has been replanted. Bloody Lane is still discernable, and the sturdy Burnside Bridge remains. The latter represents the greatest blunder of the Civil War behind Pickett’s Charge. Union Major General Ambrose Burnside ordered thousands of men to storm across the stone bridge, where they were easily slaughtered by well-placed Confederate riflemen. Old Dumb Ass didn’t realize he could send his thousands of troops across the creek itself, where their numbers would simply swarm over the enemy positions. The ruddy thing was only a couple of feet deep! Nothing I could write could explain the idiocy of funneling all your men across a tiny bridge where they could be slaughtered like crawdads at a Cajun restaurant. The Antietam National Battlefield preserves this land so perfectly that a short visit and some clever observations will reveal what should have been so obvious in 1862.

Antietam is a wonderful park to visit. It’s not a long drive from Washington, DC. Next time you’re in the nation’s capital, stop by Antietam. Make sure you stop by for a pint at Brewer’s Alley in Fredericksburg, MD!

Sadly, I didn’t own a digital camera when I visited Antietam. Historical pictures courtesy of a terrific Civil War website: Antietam on the Web.

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Links:

Antietam National Battlefield and Cemetery

Antietam on the Web

Brewer’s Alley Restaurant & Brewery

Google map to Antietam