Patrick and Jacob- Friends in the greenwood Photo by Gary Rice

As dawn's sunlight speared the high forest at Little Mountain, it caught the curling trails of smoke from numerous campfires in a surreal visage of earlier times. As the light began to spread through the forest, silhouettes of stained canvas and butternut pyramids began to emerge from the mist. From these open tent flaps, groggy men and boys emerged from their bivouacs to begin the business of the day... and the business of the day was war.

As the awakening men and boys tended to the coffee and rations, it wasn't long before the nightshirts were also exchanged for uniforms of combat gray. In a scene marred only by the acrid smells of burning greenwood and gunpowder, the soldiers of General Early's Confederate Legion prepared to engage the foe.

Never mind the story of Morgan's Raid into Ohio, or of Pickett's High Water Mark at Gettysburg--these soldiers were higher still in latitude than either of their aforementioned peers. In fact, this group was camped just a few miles from Lake Erie, and the time was now. Unlike their brethren from many years ago, however, these soldiers were not planning to battle with musket and saber, although both would be in evidence on this day. Rather, theirs was to be a somber and daunting mission: to try to capture the hearts and minds of Yankee passers-by as to the Honor, as well the Truth, about the Southern Soldier and The Lost Cause. This was to be done at the Little Mountain Music Festival at Kirtland Hills.

Aside from the fact that their hearts-and-minds mission, in some eerie way, seemed to parallel one of America's objectives in Iraq, the commitment of these Confederates to the best of Southern heritage was indeed amazing. Their General, Curtis Early, is a direct descendant of the famous Confederate General Jubal Early. Curtis was there with his grandson Patrick, a soon-to-be drummer boy. More about Patrick later.

Dad and I came to the Little Mountain Festival on Saturday a few years ago to look around and jam a little in the Song Circle, coincidentally located just across from Gen. Early's Headquarters. In the time since Mom's death, Dad has attacked the fiddle with inspiring zeal, and he and I are becoming a fixture at jam sessions. After almost 60 years of marriage, he needs, as do I, to stay as busy as he can, so we picked and sawed away on a number of tunes. During a break, I happened to speak with Gen. Early. Among other topics, I discovered that his grandson, Patrick, had been loaned a drum with home-made sticks to work on. I identified myself as a former drum instructor and sat down with the lad for a spell. The talented boy immediately grasped the concept of quarter, eighth, and sixteenth notes, and it was a fun lesson, indeed. Not long afterwards, Dad and I left the festival for home.

That night, I had a brainstorm. Though tired, I went out to the shed and found an old field drum in a youth size. I also had some youth sticks and a sling. Even though we had made other plans for Sunday, Dad and I knew that we needed to return to Little Mountain.

Now Dad's folks were from the North, and Mom's were from the South. So although I loved the history of The War That No One Agrees About The Name (i.e. North-Civil War, South- War Between the States), I was not a take-sides kind of guy, as I knew that good, honorable folks fought for both causes. A number of years ago, I had purchased some great Northern and Southern re-enactors' outfits to use in my classes. Well, up to the attic I marched and dug out the Southern uniform (with the cool HIGH cavalry boots). Yup, that was me, as a Southern soldier on that Sunday out there at Little Mountain. Yes, even though those of you who know me might imagine that I would have LOVED to debate ol' Jefferson Davis about a few points of his platform, the fact remains that young Patrick had an experience akin to Christmas morning in receiving that drum from a Confederate cavalry corporal (Me!).

Not long after a second lesson, there we were: Patrick and I in Confederate Gray playing in the song circle for all we were worth. We played "Dixie" for his mom, grandpa, and family...and yes, I did do the "Star Spangled Banner" too, on my musical saw. We are now, after all, one country of heroes and patriots, are we not? Indeed, although I might not agree with every aspect of their Southern historical viewpoint, I know I had the special privilege that day of standing with soldiers with high ideals and higher honor in the Greenwood of Little Mountain.

That day got me thinking while I was in that hot, itchy Southern wool that so many of my mom's ancestors had worn before me. So often, lately, it seems that we get caught up in this Left-Wing, Right-Wing, Chicken Wing, Liberal-Conservative garbage, and for what, exactly? When the guitars and banjos and fiddles and harmonicas and dulcimers and DRUMS come out, all the differences that have come between us as human beings seem to fade away into the mists of the Greenwood morning. So many people seem to come at us with agendas that I think we all need to retreat into the tall forest and count our blessings. Who knows? Maybe that Song Circle could become a paradigm for the rest of the world. I hope so.

Thanks Dad, General Early, and yeah, Patrick. You were great. Play that drum and wear it out! Learn other styles of drumming as well--perhaps the drumset, or the bodhran of Ireland, or the tabla from India. And when you're older, pass your knowledge along to others too. Keep that music going! After all, it's up to you and your drum. May your drum, once a vital instrument of war, help the world towards a better understanding of peace.

These days, Patrick has been joined on parade by his friend, fellow drummer, and Lakewoodite Jacob Streitel. Young Jacob has a great love of history, and has recently acquired a complete Confederate uniform, as well as another old drum that I just happened to have!