Our Land, Our Parks, Our History

When I was 5 years old, my family took a road trip out for the 135th anniversary of the battle of Gettysburg. Being only 5, my memory is sketchy, but one thing that I specifically remember minus the heat and Hershey Park is the scene of Pickett's Charge from the reenactment. To a young mind, that fight and bloody carnage seemed frightening, yet intriguing. I remember wanted to know why. Why were they fighting until this devastation occurred?

From that moment on, there was a thrill behind the world Gettysburg. Every single time someone would mention it, my heart would swell. All the way through grade school into high school, it held a magical place in my heart. After getting an internship with the National Park Service last summer, I found an overwhelming thrill in talking about the Civil War. Everything about it made my heart race and made my palms sweat with excitement. I want to discuss, debate and share all of this devastation, the history, the emotions behind this war with the rest of the world!

But tomorrow, everything is going to change.


I'm not much for politics, much to the surprise of many, but there is one thing that I am fighting hard for. The budget deadline is tomorrow, March 1st. Things aren't looking so bright for the NPS, with a looming 5% cut from their miniscule budget they're working from right now. The places I worked all summer will be closed many days a week. Trails will be closed. Maintenance will not be done. But the one thing that scares me the most, for my career but more importantly, the visitors, is the fact that they are cutting seasonal staff, and no longer hiring.

What does that mean to the Civil War soldiers that lost their lives fighting on the ground that will not be seen? Their stories are being brushed aside for politics. Their lives lost, the blood that stained the fields of Gettysburg are being forgotten because of money. If they could come back, could the Federal Government look their ancestors square in the face and tell them this? "Oh yeah, by the way, I'm not letting people go hear about your sacrifice because we need more money for something else."

I'm not saying that we shouldn't invest our government's money in anything else. That would be ridiculous. But even a tad bit more in the NPS produces thousands of jobs in the surrounding communities of the parks. From the Grand Canyon to Gettysburg, thousands of people flock to these sites for vacations, field trips, and more. And with their tourism comes the revenue. These visitors need some place to eat, to stay, to get ice cream, and to buy souvenirs.  But who wants to travel to these places if they're CLOSED?! No one. No one wants to travel across the country to be told, "Sorry folks, we're closed. Come back next time." They won't come back next time, which will continue this vicious cycle.

We need to figure this out. I want to get down on my knees and beg the country to see this land as what it truly is-- ours. It is our land, as Americans, to keep for our future generations. We always say "Go AMERICA! Buy American!" yet we don't value America's own land. These parks are apart of who we are as citizens of the United States.


Can you imagine closing Gettysburg? Can you imagine not being able to sit at Little Round Top and  enjoy the view? Because someday, that might be a reality. But I'll fight until I die for these parks to stay open. Support the National Park Service, and support the United States.

Civil War Hall of Fame

I know it's been a while since I last posted on this blog, but today I had a moment of true fright, but a moment of unbelievable love and support. All mixed into one.

I work here on campus with some amazing people. My professors are insights into future possibilities, my strengths and weaknesses as a student and human being, but alsoare truly dedicated people to their work, their projects, and their students.

As I was finishing up my spreadsheets this afternoon, I spent some time unwinding chatting with two of my favorite professors on campus while scratching the Civil War mascot-- Penny. She rolled onto her back as I scratched her belly,  while still putting my two sense into the conversation. I froze, however, when the topic turned towards a student's decision in graduate school. All I heard was that she had to take loans to go, and I immediately began asking questions.

What type of loans? Will they tack onto my undergraduate loans? How do I pay for it? How WILL I pay for it?

I admitted that I didn't know a single thing about my future schooling, but one of my professors turned to me and said,

"Yeah Emma, I think we need to sit down and talk about some future programs for you. I know it's a bit early, but I think it would be a good idea."

I immediately felt my stomach drop, and all of my plans for my future disappear in a panic. My other professor looked at me as he began walking towards his office, asking me what exactly do I want to do with my life.

How in the world to you answer this question?!

I could have laid out my childhood dreams. I could have told him what I came to school with. I could have made something up, but I didn't. I basically told him the truth-- A head historian with the National Park Service. I did leave out a crucial piece of information on which park I want to work at, since the crazy "Yeah, right. Sure." look I always get keeps me from admitted to it. He stopped, blinked a few times, and sighed. I knew that was the reaction I was going to get, so I quickly tried to recover.

"I know, it's a sinking boat, but I really want to do it..."

They both agreed. My career path is a sinking boat. With the Federal government budget, the NPS has had their funding cut tremendously, so many parks cannot hire new employees, and have cut positions. I know this going into it, but I have this secret hope that if I'm good enough and passionate enough, I might be able to work there.

As soon as I let those words come out of my mouth, everyone immediately began rewriting my future for me. I could be a novelist of vampire love stories while volunteering at a National Park if all I want to do is talk to people about history. I could work at another historic site, NOT in the NPS or a Civil War site, while writing novels. I could take a year off before I go into a Masters program if I was only going into it to deffer my current loans. I could, I could, I could...

But I don't want to. I have a dream I want to fulfill. But walking out of work this evening, I immediately felt defeated. What I want doesn't seem to be possible, so I quickly dialed the number of my boyfriend, and asked if we could go to the battlefield. I always have spurts where I feel as though I need to go out there, enjoy the silence to clear my head. He agreed, and as we walked to his car, I told him everything. I choked up as I admitted my fear of being left behind in our future. "You want to go to your Masters, onto your Doctorate, and begin teaching. And what am I going to do? Be trapped paying for loans I can't afford?!"

He didn't say much as he just let me go, listening to my deepest fears come pouring out of my mouth. He started the car, and we began to drive as the sun began to set over the Blue Ridge Mountains. Mist began to flow over the rolling hills surrounding us as he took me a different way than we normally go. We usually go to Little Round Top, but this time, he took me to the High Water Mark. It's also known as The Angle, or better known as Pickett's Charge.

It is a field of great bloodshed and fighting on July 3rd, 1863. Robert E. Lee, commanding officer of the Army of Northern Virginia sent his boys into a suicidal frontal assault on the Union center. (Basically, he ran his men into the middle of the line of the enemy.)

We walked up to the wall, not saying anything. The sun shot orange across the sky, mixing with the baby blue and purple clouds. I mumbled some random information about my day, which he didn't really respond, so I asked him if something was wrong. He looked at me, his bright blue eyes compassionate, yet stern, and began to speak.

"You know, these men who crossed this field-- they were scared, too. They didn't know what was going to happen the next day. They could either charge across this field, or sit in camp and be bored outta their minds. They didn't know if they were going to live or die on this field, yet they still kept going. Like us, they were scared of their future. They were scared of the unknown. But like them, we must keep going. We have no idea what our lives hold, but we just have to keep going to find out."

I caught tears in my eyes, knowing he was right. I swished my feet into the soppy ground, purposely getting mud from hallowed on my feet as I leaned against his shoulder.

"This is my home. This is where I want to work, so, so bad."
"Then you will." Bobby said firmly. "You will get here someday."
I looked up at him with a smile, leaning up to kiss him softly.
"I love you so much," I whispered, and he replied that he loved me too. I knew he was going to support me, just as much as I was going to support him. We are each others rocks, to form our base for our future together.

On the way back to school, the song "Hall of Fame" by The Script came on his iPod, and I realized that this song is what I want to be. I want to be in the Civil War Hall of Fame. I want to speak to people, share this passion. I want to work at my home, the Gettysburg National Military Park. I am going to speak to hundreds to people. I'm going to get there, through hell or high water.

The world is going to know my name.

Let Me Go Home

I always watch my dreams to see what could be deep inside me, waiting for the moment I fall asleep to come out. There has been a theme that keeps popping up ever since May that will not leave me alone.

I keep dreaming of my house.

Whether it's me waking up back in my bunk bed, hitting my head on the ceiling to my father coming in to tell me to get up and start chores as the sun is streaming in my paper blinds or sneaking in the now-owners house to see them turn it into a multicolored beach house with a jacuzzi in the living room, I keep returning to that "white house with the black top and the brown fence" as I used to describe it when I was little.

My most recent dream happened only a few nights ago. My boyfriend was gone for the weekend, and I had a dream that I was driving with him in his Jeep to pick his father up for something. I didn't know what it was, but I flashed from having him walk up the steps to be standing in my TV room. Everyone was there. My mom's side of the family had made all the food, and my reenacting group was scattered across the yard. It looked exactly the same. The wall unit was there with all the books in it, my family portrait was on the wall. The tan couch and chair was facing the TV, and the kitchen table had all sorts of food, bowls of chips and pop on top. They said it was a "Gettysburg Party", not for graduation, but for just being there. I felt like it was a graduation party, but I turned to my right to find Bobby next to me in my house. I immediately knew something was wrong.

You've never been in my house. What are you doing here?

I continued to my back yard to find my family around the fireplace, the green lawn chairs exactly the same as they were for all other parties. My boyfriend's father was sitting in the middle, telling a particularly funny story as everyone laughed. He pointed to me in the sliding door, going into the same sweet story he tells me every time I visit. "I always knew something was gonna happen between these two the moment I saw them together. The sparks were flying!"

I felt home. Smiles on everyone's faces, and energy bouncing off every wall. I came back into the TV room to find some of the members of my reenacting group on the couch watching Gods and Generals, and I knew I was beginning to wake up.

"I have the music for this song," My aunt said as she said on the recliner across the room from me. "I have the music for banjo." 
I remember laughing, telling her I would sing it for her. She got all excited, and I went outside to tell my boyfriend that the song at the beginning always reminded me of him, and I felt like I missed him...

And I woke up.

I can't seem to get my house out of my head. I found myself crying the other night about how I feel like I want to go back to my home. Not the town, or the area, but the house. I want to walk in to find my things in my room. I want my family together, with our picture frames and home-videos close by. I want to know where all my writings, my stories, my keepsakes, my journals, my books are at. I feel like I have no where to go. The place where we are at now has no space for me. I come home, and I immediately clutter the small space my parents and little sister live in now.

I guess I'm trying to find out what these dreams mean. Why do I keep dreaming about my house. I've gone through almost every single room, including the garage and drive way. I've finally moved on to the backyard, but I always feel lost when I wake up. I can't go back home. I want to. I want to go back home to the home, where everyone is in that house with the joyful noise and chaos. With my dad putting music on on Saturday morning to do chores or to my mom sitting and talking to me on her bed as we waste hours away trying to do laundry with Titanic on the TV for the millionth time.

For the owners of 891 Churchill Dr, I'm glad you let us come out East. But please, don't forget about the family that lived there. Don't turn my house into a beach house, and don't peel the paint back in the back left bedroom about 6 feet off the ground. You'll find my name with a smiley-face and the date that I scribbled when I was young. It should stay there forever.

~E

The Joys of Journals

My first official blog! And my goodness, is it a long one.

One thing I thoroughly enjoy to do is write. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I constantly have a notebook with me, whether if it is a small, black pocket book, or a large 3 ringed binder holding multiple stories, ideas, emotions or memories. Along with creatively writing, I also write in my journal. The first one I can remember writing was in 6^th grade, and it has evolved from there. Now being in college, I carry some of my journals with me to sometimes reflect on my progression and growth and life. I also want to see how amazing my life has become, and count all the blessings today that were building years ago. Sometimes it’s a cheap form of entertainment since my life almost plays out like a movie, and I chuckle at my young self and my young mind. Today, while cleaning and reading some for homework, I took two journals, one from 2011 and the other from 2012 to read how much my life has changed in two years.

My goodness, has my life changed.


2 years ago, on February 2^nd, 2011, there was a massive snow storm hitting Chicago. The “snowpocolypse” as everyone termed it, and I was trapped home by the mountains of snow. We stayed home, I baked a loaf of bread, and we all watched terrible movies. It was a night I wasn’t consumed by my daily loneliness. There are pages and pages of me struggling through an emptiness—an ache that I begged God to take away from me. I didn’t feel like I had anyone left at school to comfort me. I watched my sister fall deeper in love with her boyfriend as I watched my love life go helplessly down the drain. I had asked a boy to the school dance around this time, and  he turned me down “for amiable reasons” I wrote, which today I laugh at, because I was right. Good for him, turn me down! But around this time 2 years ago, a man came back into my life who I thought was gone forever. He reached out to me again, and I was so flustered, angry, confused and intrigued. I remember pounding my fists into the kitchen table, cursing that this wasn’t what I wanted. I was focusing on the beautiful college before me, hoping that my life was going to drastically change when I got there, not get roped back into this nonsensical spiral of meaningless words and attempts to keep me trapped in his life. I prayed to God, lost for what I was going to do next. I was jolted with happiness at the idea that someone could possibly want me, maybe even care for me, but I was also holding on tight to my future. Gettysburg College, what a mystery you seemed to be.

1 year ago, around this time, I was adjusting to living in a new, stress-free room. I could let my hair down, be myself and live. I had finally moved out of my first semester room after months of debating to leave or stay, and I was so thankful for moving.  I struggled with pop-up windows from the previous year, but not in the way I was expecting. I was angry at my stupidity, looking back and wanting to slap some sense into myself. 

“I keep thinking about how stupid I was. If I hadn’t had him come back and severely hurt me, I could be a strong, confident Emma.” 

I wrestled with my identity, wanting to be so much more than I was becoming. I was hiding something, and I can see it in my words. I later describe how I had a moment while talking to my Grandma on the phone that I realized I was lost in an unknown area of life...

“I am lost in relationships. Sure, I’ve gotten wisdom in toxic relationships, but never in relationships that are mutual. I’ve never been in a relationship where I am loved also. I pondered for a moment, then imagined myself, totally clueless in a situation where I am the one cared about. How could I act?!”

I had no idea! I was gaining friends, battling with my idea of who I was, and who was out there for me.

Today, February 2, 2013, I am cleaning my room for a Super Bowl party I am hosting in my room. Some of my closest friends are coming over, and we’re going to order pizza. I also am doing some laundry, some homework, but there is something that is on my mind that won’t go away. My boyfriend is currently at an immersion event in South Carolina for Civil War reenacting. He is cut off from the 21^st century, only to have 2 loaves of authentic bread I baked for him, my tintype picture and a letter from me to connect him to me. When he arrived yesterday, he called to tell me he was alright and that he loved me, and missed me terribly already. I expressed the same feelings, informing him that everything felt quieter without him. As I said my last “I love you” while he hung up, I took a deep breathe, ready to face the next few days without hearing from him, trying not to think about if he is cold, or hungry, or tired…

But he is coming home tomorrow, and I cannot wait to have him in my arms, holding him as he goes on and on about the 1860’s experiences he had. His excitement is so beautiful and pure, and I love to watch as he gushes about his passions.He'll continue on how much he missed me, how many times he looked at my tintype or reread my letter, imagining my smiling face or hearing my voice ring through his ears.

Look how much my life has changed! In 2011, I was struggling with loneliness and a boy I thought I loved who was creeping back into my life. In 2012, I had moved into a room with a wonderful friend and was gaining more as the school year went on. I wanted to slap myself for my past, knowing that I was totally lost in relationships. I didn’t even know where to begin!

Today, I’m hosting a party and waiting for a man who loves me to come home. As I look through my past and see how much I have succeeded and grown, it just reinforces my belief of finding who you are from what you struggled with in the past. I am a strong, confident Emma. I am no longer plagued with loneliness, and I am in love with someone who loves me just the same.

God bless the broken road that has led me to the life I now lead.