DanaC
04-18-2010, 05:44 AM
Note - I wrote this some years ago. It appeared in a local outdoor newspaper, in the April edition. Since tomorrow is Patriot's Day,* I've decided to post it here.
*The REAL Patriot's Day, a state holiday here in MA that SHOULD be national, imo.
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"The Minuteman" Copyright 1996
by Dana Charbonneau
There's a place you really ought to see.
It's actually in Eastern Massachusetts, just outside of Boston and the normal scope of this paper. The place is Concord, specifically the Old North Bridge.
Several years ago I spent Patriots' Day at this place where, as the poet said, our ancestors "fired the shot heard round the world." It was a beautiful Spring day, sunny with a light breeze, new leaves bright. I toured the visitors, center up the hill, then made my way down to the bridge. The river called to the fisherman in me, but I was there for other reasons.
I walked out onto the bridge and turned. There he was, larger than life, the famous Minuteman statue. You've doubtless seen pictures of it, the farmer pushing aside his plow and shouldering his musket. Daniel Chester French's sculpture captures the birth of the American spirit, that moment when we said, "Enough!" and made our stand.
I stood there for a long time, asking myself what that farmer would think of me, of this country today, of what we have done with the freedom he fought for. Would he be proud, or sad, amazed, disgusted?
A while later there were ceremonies to commemorate the day, reenactments by historical militia units.
Then the redcoats came.
I don't know who they really were, some other group of reenactors, maybe some ceremonial regiment from England. It doesn't matter. They marched through Concord to the steady beat of drums, their equipment polished, their uniforms bright, their steps heavy and precise. They marched as men projecting the will and might of the most powerful Empire in the world.
It was then that I knew, really knew, the courage of the Minutemen. A bunch of poorly drilled, ill equipped farmers in their drab working clothes must have looked at the awesome power of the British Empire approaching and swallowed hard. It would have been so easy to run, to hide, to avoid the conflict, to surrender.
They didn't.
In those dark times, those Patriots knew that they must stand fast, stick to their guns and their principles, and defy those who would trample their rights.
We hunters and anglers and trappers face dark times of our own. The animal-rights people want to destroy our sport. The legislature is working on yet another gun control bill, chipping away at our Constitutional freedoms. The fight seems endless, the enemy seems too numerous, too strong. It would be easy to give up, to run away, to stop fighting.
On that day, April 19, 1989, in Concord, Massachusetts, I learned what it is to be an American. I learned that numbers of opponents, their organization, their money, are not what matters, only the will to fight, to hang in there, to never quit.
Go to Concord. Let our American heritage of courage and strength in the face of great odds fill your heart. It will steel you for the battles we face.
*The REAL Patriot's Day, a state holiday here in MA that SHOULD be national, imo.
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"The Minuteman" Copyright 1996
by Dana Charbonneau
There's a place you really ought to see.
It's actually in Eastern Massachusetts, just outside of Boston and the normal scope of this paper. The place is Concord, specifically the Old North Bridge.
Several years ago I spent Patriots' Day at this place where, as the poet said, our ancestors "fired the shot heard round the world." It was a beautiful Spring day, sunny with a light breeze, new leaves bright. I toured the visitors, center up the hill, then made my way down to the bridge. The river called to the fisherman in me, but I was there for other reasons.
I walked out onto the bridge and turned. There he was, larger than life, the famous Minuteman statue. You've doubtless seen pictures of it, the farmer pushing aside his plow and shouldering his musket. Daniel Chester French's sculpture captures the birth of the American spirit, that moment when we said, "Enough!" and made our stand.
I stood there for a long time, asking myself what that farmer would think of me, of this country today, of what we have done with the freedom he fought for. Would he be proud, or sad, amazed, disgusted?
A while later there were ceremonies to commemorate the day, reenactments by historical militia units.
Then the redcoats came.
I don't know who they really were, some other group of reenactors, maybe some ceremonial regiment from England. It doesn't matter. They marched through Concord to the steady beat of drums, their equipment polished, their uniforms bright, their steps heavy and precise. They marched as men projecting the will and might of the most powerful Empire in the world.
It was then that I knew, really knew, the courage of the Minutemen. A bunch of poorly drilled, ill equipped farmers in their drab working clothes must have looked at the awesome power of the British Empire approaching and swallowed hard. It would have been so easy to run, to hide, to avoid the conflict, to surrender.
They didn't.
In those dark times, those Patriots knew that they must stand fast, stick to their guns and their principles, and defy those who would trample their rights.
We hunters and anglers and trappers face dark times of our own. The animal-rights people want to destroy our sport. The legislature is working on yet another gun control bill, chipping away at our Constitutional freedoms. The fight seems endless, the enemy seems too numerous, too strong. It would be easy to give up, to run away, to stop fighting.
On that day, April 19, 1989, in Concord, Massachusetts, I learned what it is to be an American. I learned that numbers of opponents, their organization, their money, are not what matters, only the will to fight, to hang in there, to never quit.
Go to Concord. Let our American heritage of courage and strength in the face of great odds fill your heart. It will steel you for the battles we face.