Somehow I doubt that there is a town in America with more monuments per square mile than Gettysburg. Depending on the time of day, they look even more striking, whether this is in a fog, at sunset or sunrise. Here, I don't even doubt about the presence of ghosts. The question here is only how many there are.
On our way up to Scranton, we had already missed Gettysburg by the barest of margins. Not today.
Today, Gettysburg has about 7,000 people, and has all of the warm small town feel. A cashier at a gas station proudly flashes a copy of a certificate Gettysburg received for being one of the most livable places in the state of Pennsylvania. People are proud of this place, and rightfully so.
And yet, for all of its charm, that's not why we're here. One of the facts remain that some of the most beautiful places have had some of the highest butcher bills when it came to war. Ireland is one of those places. So is Little Big Horn. Ever been to Verdun? It is chilling imagining yourself there a mere century ago.
According to the National Park Service, Gettysburg has 1,328 monuments, or one for every six citizens there. We drive up to the Military National Park Museum and marvel at its tasteful installations. Unfortunately, most tours are booked for at least four hours, so we need to improvise. I find an app to download and decide to take Bash, dog, and truck on our own tour. We stop at the place General Lee camped at while he was in charge of the confederate forces in Gettysburg. There's the Shriver House Museum that was seized by the Confederate Army. There's even time for Ike, former president Eisenhower, and his weekend retreat. It seems we stop every 100 feet or so, or whenever there is a new monument erected to commemorate an event or some state's unit.
We stop and climb the tower at Culp Hill, where arguably the bloodiest fighting took place. Held by Union troops for the duration of the battle, this is where tens of thousands of men fought for supremacy of the hill, which was vital in overlooking the surroundings. There we sit, Jade the dog wagging its tail after making the ascension.
I am trying my best to just enjoy the serenity instead of visualizing two armies butchering each other to death. Worse yet, I have this recurring image of Woodstock, where we had just been less than 48 hours before, of bodies lying in the mud, probably baked out of their minds on drugs, while there are bodies lying in the dirt here as well, uniformed but lifeless. I can't hep but shudder. One of the places is a shrine of peace, the other a shrine of war. And because this is America, of course they are 200 miles from each other and could be visited the same day, were the eager tourist so inclined.
Although the Civil War ended in 1865, its effects have haunted us to this day. And in the end, you start playing the great what-if games, like: what if we hadn't gone to war? What if all of those men hadn't died? Would there still be slavery in the 21st century? Would there still be this divide among the populace we find now?
In the end, we realize it was essential for us to come here. We need to remind ourselves that peace is never a given, that there is a Gettysburg for every Woodstock. That freedom isn't, indeed, ever free, whether you fight for it or not.
