Throughout the years when the kids would write something funny at school, I hung on to it and put it in their scrapbook binder. One of the funniest things is when they had to answer questions about me and I would read things like I watched soap operas or I ate pretzels all day. I received a message from Britta today with a picture of the local newspaper and something Easton had written about how to cook a turkey. It is hilarious. You need a binder Britta, it is just beginning.
I adore this Christmas hymn and I had no idea about its creation. This story is so sad . . . and the hymn so beautiful.
In March of 1863, 18-year-old Charles Appleton Longfellow walked out of his family’s house on Brattle Street in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and—unbeknownst to his family—boarded a train bound for Washington, D.C., traveling over 400 miles across the eastern seaboard in order to join President Lincoln’s Union army to fight in the Civil War.
Charles (b. June 9, 1844) was the oldest of six children born to Fannie Elizabeth Appleton and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the celebrated literary critic and poet. Charles had five younger siblings: a brother (aged 17) and three sisters (ages 13, 10, 8—another one had died as an infant).
Less than two years earlier, Charles’s mother Fannie had tragically died after her dress caught on fire. Her husband, awoken from a nap, tried to extinguish the flames as best he could, first with a rug and then his own body, but she had already suffered severe burns. She died the next morning (July 10, 1861), and Henry Longfellow’s facial burns were severe enough that he was unable even to attend his own wife’s funeral. He would grow a beard to hide his burned face and at times feared that he would be sent to an asylum on account of his grief.
When Charley (as he was called) arrived in Washington D.C., he sought to enlist as a private with the 1st Massachusetts Artillery. Captain W. H. McCartney, commander of Battery A, wrote to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow for written permission for Charley to become a soldier. HWL (as his son referred to him) granted the permission.
Longfellow later wrote to his friends Charles Sumner (senator from Massachusetts), John Andrew (governor of Massachusetts), and Edward Dalton (medical inspector of the Sixth Army Corps) to lobby for his son to become an officer. But Charley had already impressed his fellow soldiers and superiors with his skills, and on March 27, 1863, he was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the 1st Massachusetts Cavalry, assigned to Company “G.”
After participating on the fringe of the Battle of Chancellorsville in Virginia (April 30-May 6, 1863), Charley fell ill with typhoid fever and was sent home to recover. He rejoined his unit on August 15, 1863, having missed the Battle of Gettysburg (July 1-3, 1863)
While dining at home on December 1, 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow received a telegram that his son had been severely wounded four days earlier. On November 27, 1863, while involved in a skirmish during a battle of of the Mine Run Campaign, Charley was shot through the left shoulder, with the bullet exiting under his right shoulder blade. It had traveled across his back and skimmed his spine. Charley avoided being paralyzed by less than an inch.
He was carried into New Hope Church (Orange County, Virginia) and then transported to the Rapidan River. Charley’s father and younger brother, Ernest, immediately set out for Washington, D.C., arriving on December 3. Charley arrived by train on December 5. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was alarmed when informed by the army surgeon that his son’s wound “was very serious” and that “paralysis might ensue.” Three surgeons gave a more favorable report that evening, suggesting a recovery that would require him to be “long in healing,” at least six months.
On Christmas day, 1863, Longfellow—a 57-year-old widowed father of six children, the oldest of which had been nearly paralyzed as his country fought a war against itself—wrote a poem seeking to capture the dynamic and dissonance in his own heart and the world he observes around him. He heard the Christmas bells that December day and the singing of “peace on earth” (Luke 2:14), but he observed the world of injustice and violence that seemed to mock the truthfulness of this optimistic outlook. The theme of listening recurred throughout the poem, eventually leading to a settledness of confident hope even in the midst of bleak despair.
I owe homage to the inventors of the world. Thank you. Thank you for thinking of the most perfect gadgets. Thank you for your intuitiveness and forthrightness to make this world just a little bit easier and more comfortable. Thank for inventing a product that made me say, “why didn’t I think of that?” I am now the proud owner of a “Christmas Tree Funnel” which will make watering my tree a snap! Merry Christmas.
Freezer wrap, Saran Wrap, black marker, large bowls, sharp knives, paper towels, large table, Christmas plastic table cloth, cutting boards, Christmas music, the hunters, Mom’s help, moose meat and some big ol’ hooves made up our Black Friday.
Does tradition not dictate that on Thanksgiving Day the hunters hit the fields for a turkey kill? At least a letter written by pilgrim Edward Winslow mentions a turkey hunting trip before the meal. Off Bret and Devin went this fine Thanksgiving day, into the woods with guns by their sides and an appetite for a swift kill. Us woman folk stayed behind to adorn the meal with the fancy fixings needed: stuffing, sweet potatoes, fruit salad, rolls and pies. The hunters sent word that the kill was over. A moose???
Some weeks are just weird weeks. It is like something is just off. Is there a full moon?? I have had friends ill, some with sicknesses and some with surgeries. The temperatures rose, everything was either dripping or icy and school was cancelled. Everything I tried to order online had some sort of “tweak” to it and I spent time on the phone wondering why they consider Alaska to be as far as Asia. Driving home from Anchorage today this guy was driving with two mattresses tied down on is car with just string in the pouring rain. I’m not following him and I’m glad I’m not sleeping on that bed tonight. Can we just get back to normal please??
I opened up ol’ Betty to look for my bread stuffing recipe and there was no page 85. I thumbed through the loose pages looking for the “lost one” but to no avail. I knew the old standard recipe would probably be found online but for a just a few moments I connected with Thanksgivings from the past and how Betty has always been there for me. Her tattered worn, stained ripped pages are our memories, our failures, our successes and our secrets. Just her and I.
It is Thanksgiving week and I am thankful for: the guy who dug deep in the store freezer for a big turkey for me, my girls for preparing food for our dinner, Kyla and Sam for visiting the folks, Bret and Britta for driving far and long, the Amish for making my table that is so big and long and for everyone and everything that gives my life meaning and purpose.
Absolutely the cutest day in the whole wide world. I helped out in the nursery at Church today and it was also Hatcher’s first day in nursery. He was so so so so cute. All the kids were cute. I loved the two hours I was in there and all that cuteness stayed with me all day.
I got up early this morning (5 am) because I wanted to work real hard all day long. I got lots done and dropped into bed early. I watched the most amazing video before I turned off my light. I needed to share.
Tara Truly 