SCV Camp 458 Meeting, this Saturday. Special Guest Speaker!

Fellow Compatriots,
 
  We have a special guest speaker coming to our Meeting this Saturday, September 6th. His name is Jim Cross, and he is a specialist in Confederate Medicine during the war. He will be speaking after our business session.
  The meeting starts at 11am, at the Bomber Wings of Freedom Hall, in Milwaukie, OR. We have some important, last minute, Convention business that needs to be covered as well, so please don’t miss this meeting!
  If you have any other questions, please call me at (503)888-7773, or email me at imbel308win@yahoo.com.
 
See ya Saturday!
 
Thank You,
Erik Ernst
Commander
SCV Pacific NW Division

SCV Recruiting Event: “Civil War” Reenactment at Fort Stevens, August 30th-Sept. 1st.

Fellow Compatriots,

  SCV Camp 458 and some of us from the Pacific NW Division Board, will be having a recruiting event at the Fort Stevens State Park “Civil War” Reenactment. It will be on August 30th thru September 1st.

  We are be bringing our Camp merchandise and recruiting literature.

  We will need volunteers to help man the booth. Please let me know if you can make it.

  Also, the Camping spots are $15 for tents, $20 for RV’s. Follow this link to get the form and where to send payment to http://www.nwcwc.org/event_info.html

  My number is (503)888-7773.

Thanks,
Erik Ernst

Commander

SCV Pacific NW Division

scvpacnw.wordpress.com

Lee in the Mountains 1865-1870 by Donald Davidson

This is one of the greatest poems ever written in the English language. Read it out loud for best effect.

You can here Davidson read the poem here: Lee in the Mountains

Lee in the Mountains 

Walking into the shadows, walking alone
Where the sun falls through the ruined boughs of locust
Up to the president’s office. . . .
                                 Hearing the voices

Whisper, Hush, it is General Lee! And strangely
Hearing my own voice say, Good morning, boys.
(Don’t get up. You are early. It is long
Before the bell. You will have long to wait
On these cold steps
. . . .)
                          The young have time to wait

But soldiers’ faces under their tossing flags
Lift no more by any road or field,
And I am spent with old wars and new sorrow.
Walking the rocky path, where steps decay
And the paint cracks and grass eats on the stone.
It is not General Lee, young men. . . .
It is Robert Lee in a dark civilian suit who walks,
An outlaw fumbling for the latch, a voice
Commanding in a dream where no flag flies.

My father’s house is taken and his hearth
Left to the candle-drippings where the ashes
Whirl at a chimney-breath on the cold stone.
I can hardly remember my father’s look, I cannot
Answer his voice as he calls farewell in the misty
Mounting where riders gather at gates.
He was old then——I was a child——his hand
Held out for mine, some daybreak snatched away,
And he rode out, a broken man. Now let
His lone grave keep, surer than cypress roots,
The vow I made beside him. God too late
Unseals to certain eyes the drift
Of time and the hopes of men and a sacred cause.
The fortune of the Lees goes with the land
Whose sons will keep it still. My mother
Told me much. She sat among the candles,
Fingering the Memoirs, now so long unread.
And as my pen moves on across the page
Her voice comes back, a murmuring distillation
Of old Virginia times now faint and gone,
The hurt of all that was and cannot be.

Why did my father write? I know he saw
History clutched as a wraith out of blowing mist
Where tongues are loud, and a glut of little souls
Laps at the too much blood and the burning house.
He would have his say, but I shall not have mine.
What I do is only a son’s devoir
To a lost father. Let him only speak.
The rest must pass to men who never knew
(But on a written page) the strike of armies,
And never heard the long Confederate cry
Charge through the muzzling smoke or saw the bright
Eyes of the beardless boys go up to death.
It is Robert Lee who writes with his father’s hand——
The rest must go unsaid and the lips be locked.

If all were told, as it cannot be told——
If all the dread opinion of the heart
Now could speak, now in the shame and torment
Lashing the bound and trampled States——

If a word were said, as it cannot be said——
I see clear waters run in Virginia’s Valley
And in the house the weeping of young women
Rises no more. The waves of grain begin.
The Shenandoah is golden with a new grain.
The Blue Ridge, crowned with a haze of light,
Thunders no more. The horse is at plough. The rifle
Returns to the chimney crotch and the hunter’s hand.
And nothing else than this? Was it for this
That on an April day we stacked our arms
Obedient to a soldier’s trust? To lie
Ground by heels of little men, Forever maimed, defeated, lost, impugned?
And was I then betrayed? Did I betray?

If it were said, as it still might be said——
If it were said, and a word should run like fire,
Like living fire into the roots of grass,
The sunken flag would kindle on wild hills,
The brooding hearts would waken, and the dream
Stir like a crippled phantom under the pines,
And this torn earth would quicken into shouting
Beneath the feet of the ragged bands——
                                     The pen
Turns to the waiting page, the sword
Bows to the rust that cankers and the silence.

Among these boys whose eyes lift up to mine
Within gray walls where droning wasps repeat
A hollow reveille, I still must face,
Day after day, the courier with his summons
Once more to surrender, now to surrender all.
Without arms or men I stand, but with knowledge only
I face what long I saw, before others knew,
When Pickett’s men streamed back, and I heard the tangled
Cry of the Wilderness wounded, bloody with doom.

The mountains, once I said, in the little room
At Richmond, by the huddled fire, but still
The President shook his head. The mountains wait,
I said, in the long beat and rattle of siege
At cratered Petersbyrg. Too late
We sought the mountains and those people came.
And Lee is in the mountains now, beyond Appomatox,
Listening long for voices that will never speak
Again; hearing the hoofbeats that come and go and fade
Without a stop, without a brown hand lifting
The tent-flap, or a bugle call at dawn,
Or ever on the long white road the flag
Of Jackson’s quick brigades. I am alone,
Trapped, consenting, taken at last in mountains.

It is not the bugle now, or the long roll beating.
The simple stroke of a chapel bell forbids
The hurtling dream, recalls the lonely mind.
Young men, the God of your fathers is a just
And merciful God Who in this blood once shed
On your green altars measures out all days,
And measures out the grace
Whereby alone we live;
And in His might He waits,
Brooding within the certitude of time,
To bring this lost forsaken valor
And the fierce faith undying
And the love quenchless
To flower among the hills to which we cleave,
To fruit upon the mountains whither we flee,
Never forsaking, never denying
His children and His children’s children forever
Unto all generations of the faithful heart.

Fort Stevens “Civil War” Reenactment Recruiting Event

On August 30th thru September 1st, Ft. Stevens will be having its annual “Civil War” Reenactment. I’m checking to see how many SCV members would be interested in helping out if we had a recruiting table at this event? There will be a very large amount of foot traffic going by our booth, so we will have a great opportunity to promote the Sons of Confederate Veterans. If you are interested in helping out, please email me at imbel308win@yahoo.com. The SCV has a reciprocity agreement with the NW Civil War Council, that allows us to set up a recruiting table at no charge. 

Thank You,
Erik Ernst Commander

SCV Pacific NW Division

Southern Conservatism by M.E. (Mel) Bradford

This article originally appeared in American Conservatism: An Encyclopedia (ISI Books). It is reprinted by permission of the publisher.

Southern conservatism, as opposed to the generic American variety, is a doctrine rooted in memory, experience, and prescription rather than in goals or abstract principles. It is part of a nonnegotiable Southern identity with what it is prior to what it means. Not the consequence of dialectics or reasoning, it emerges from a historical continuum engendered by a recognizable people who have, over a long period of time, a specific set of experiences. 

Read the full article at The Abbeville Institute website.

SCV Camp 458 Meeting, August 2nd at 11am!

  Finally, we are back to our usual location for the upcoming SCV Camp 458 meeting in August. This coming meeting, Lt. Commander Jay Willis and I will be talking about how things went at the 2014 SCV Reunion in Charleston, South Carolina. Along with this, we will be discussing very important Camp business and will be showing a documentary called “Warriors of Honor”, which is about the Life and Faith of General Lee and Jackson. This is a very moving and informative film.

  There is a possibility that we might have a guest speaker at the meeting (if he’s available), if he can make it, we’ll wait to watch the movie another time.

  Just a reminder, if you have not purchased your September 20th, Pacific NW Division Convention and Ball tickets yet, please do so soon!!! We are nearing the deadline for being able to purchase tickets. If you cannot make it to the Convention, we are accepting donations as well. This is a big event, and our Camp is needing a lot more tickets to be sold, so that we can cover our costs. Let me know if you can make it, or want to donate.

  The August 2nd Camp meeting, will be at our usual location, the Bomber Wings of Freedom Hall, in Milwaukie, Oregon. It starts at 11am! I look forward to seeing you there! For more info, visit scvportland.org

 

Thank You,

Erik Ernst

Commander

SCV Pacific NW Division