BITTER SWEET MEMORIAL MESSAGE

MY Great grandfather Joseph W. Litchfield was 16 years old when the Civil War started. He was born in Georgia in 1844, but the family moved to Texas when he was but a boy where he enlisted to fight for the Confederacy in 1860. Great Grandpa was 1/4 Cherokee Indian and had a "half-breed" Cherokee woman, Sarah Elder, whom he loved and married about the same time he enlisted. (The picture above is of Joseph showing off his new false teeth at the age of 80.)

Apparently Great Grandpa was a "good hand" with horses and was a "fearless rider" so was recruited to be a messenger between commanding officers on the battle field and between units and armies during the war. The story goes that Great Grandma Sarah went to war with her new husband and somehow managed to ride with him when he traveled between armies in the field. She, apparently, was as bold and fearless as he was, maybe more so. I've got an old picture hidden somewhere in a box of Joseph leading a horse upon which my father, Joseph (named after grandpa), was being led as a young lad of 3 or 4 years of age.

Recently my heart has been turned to my forebears, to genealogy. It has been a fascinating experience to try and connect with and reconstruct the lives and times of my ancestors. My favorite ancestor on my mothers side, several great grandfathers ago, was Charles Calvert, a direct descendent of the Lords Baltimore who founded the colony of Maryland back in the early 1600's. Why do I like him? He told his pompous father, who was the last Lord Baltimore, and deeply committed to the King at the time of the Revolutionary War, to shove it up his noble arse as he, Charles, joined the revolutionary troops and fought against the King. He, Charles, later became friends with Daniel Boone, of all people, and ended up having conjoining farms in Missouri in their old age.

And there were many other rebellious and rambunctious ancestors of mine whose blood still runs hot in me. So it's no wonder I despise and even hate the modern tide of paternal governments, corrupt international bankers and their ilk, the Elite, who push for wars in foreign lands and use the common man as pawns, as expendable tools, in their lust for power and money.

It is sobering to see the short notations beside ancestors names similar to this: William Hardt, died April 8, 1944 in Europe, WWII. There were so many of them, in so many wars. Not just the soldiers but the civilians too, who perished from war. And then there are the Cherokee, from whom I am descended, who were decimated by disease, terrible abuse, and war against the invading white man.

On this Memorial Day, I honor them all, the fallen, the forgotten.

For some it is given to remember. I am one of those, and wrote this poem a few years ago about the fallen.

TEARS

I was born with tears in my eyes,
I was born in sorrow.
God has made me hold the hearts
Of the fallen in my hands,
And I taste their weeping.

TODAY let us remember those who have perished in war. The verse below comes from the Confederate Soldiers Memorial in the Arlington Cemetery where 482 Confederate officers, enlisted men, wives and unknowns are buried.

Not for fame or reward
Not for place or rank
Not lured by ambition
Or goaded by necessity,
But in simple
Obedience to duty,
As they understood it,
These men suffered all
Sacrificed all
Dared all - and died.

My prayer is that one day we will live in peace. So be it. Many blessings,

Mistermercury