Remember Rivers Bridge

Rivers Bridge State Historic Site pays homage to South Carolina's Civil War heritage.

No matter the ideology, humanity must always remember and respect blood willingly sacrificed for principle.  The battle site is hallowed.  Here is where young men fought, killed and died.  Here is the site where endless feats of bravery, cowardice, horror and enlightenment took place.  Here is the place where soldiers proved and lost that which defined them as men.

And here we trod.  Our ragamuffin modern day family engaged the trail beside the battlefield.  We walked slowly and let our silent gazes linger on the mounds of earth built for that battle as a means of protecting young boys from bullets as they were shot upon by other young boys and as they themselves prepared to return fire on their peers.  The battlefield butts up into a dark swamp which is a perfect personification of an evil day full of death and killing.  I cannot make myself imagine the horror this place witnessed.  I walked holding Little Leg's small hand and watching Ben, Wetfoot and Thoreau on ahead with Anchor.  The mother in me reaches out through time and offers comfort to the wounded boys shaking with fear and pain.  There is a moment when ideology gives way to humanity and all gives way to love.

Rivers Bridge is a sad place and yet I am glad that we visited.  Some causes are worth giving our lives for but one must caluculate the cost of that sacrifice.   I wish that all who ever sat in a stately capital to  make the decision to sacrifice the personhoods and breath of their countrymen would visit such a battlefield.  Some causes are worth sacrifice.  Yet, it comes at immense cost.  The value of life is high and must be fairly weighed against the struggle faced.  Rivers Bridge silently screams out the cost of war.

The battlefield explored and respects paid to those who lost thier lives in that place, we crossed over into a plae of life.  Across the street from the memorial battlefield, Rivers Bridge helped to transition us back into the present.  It was cathardic and oh so necessary to rise from the memorial garden of the dead and listen as the children jumped onto the tire swings by the park office.  Some may think the play area disrespectful to the place as a whole.  Not so!  The family area- the picnic shelter and swings- pay the sweetest tribute of all to the sacrifie given by young men.  I can't help but think they would delight at the celebration of light and love that rang out in my children's laughter.  Many were not much more than children themselves.  Many  drew their last breath with memories flooding consciousness of home and family and happier times full of love and laughter.