Splash was up early and by the Fire Ring as the first explosives of the morning began to echo up the gentle canyon leading to Mount Pony. It was a salute to the extended rumble of yesterday at the angle of advance for two Armies on successive years. One was headed north to Pennsylvania and the other south to Richmond. It was a long time ago, but in keeping with the awakening of this rich soil and the joy of Spring.

Accordingly, it is not the first time that the sound of partly muffled blasts have echoed against the gently rolling hills. Now sprouting fresh rejuvenated greenery.

These days our Farm is part of a place with an agricultural base, and the seasonal celebration of the return of warmth and growing things. This morning, the early cackle of the wild birds and roosters next door drowned out the initial crackling of minor explosives. It fits our mood, since this is a place where the sound of occasional small arms fire represents not alarm but only the sound of local folks keeping their skills current.

Splash had done his reading and assuaged concern. “This local celebration of Spring’s awakening is conducted by the CrackerJacks group. You can look them up to see their bona fides on safety procedures:

“The CrackerJacks is a social club for fireworks-enthusiasts to share ideas and experiences. Club members include professional pyrotechnicians, dedicated hobbyists, and novices… who hold events primarily in Virginia and central Pennsylvania.” It is no coincidence that their domain includes the territory that hosted major movements of the Armies of the Potomac (Union) and Virginia (Rebel) and hold full documentation by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (Union). Their events “may include seminars, display setup, manufacturing, but always include LOTS of booms!”
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The Jacks helpfully note strict adherence to all DOT, state, and local regulations and notification of local Law Enforcement and Fire agencies. They teach safe handling, sale, storage and transportation of fireworks. Splash was up to experience the mild concussion of dozens of detonations of the sounds of Spring readiness. Up early and ready for the Orthodox Easter, he had the pages of the Clarion-Bugle open on his lap in the new bright light of the Day of Spring. The paper was open to the article penned by local landmark historian Clark “Bud” Hall, who had noted the significance of this glorious awakening season with that of others here on what is- temporarily- our fields.

His topic this week marked the change-of-command of the Union Army. A fellow named Hiram Ulysses Grant- cut to “U.S. Grant” in his signature block- was directed by a President in Washington with a firm will to “preserve a Union.” As a demonstration of unity and purpose to his blue-clad troops, he presided upon a ceremonial parade of the Union Army’s Second Corps here at Stevensburg.

Soldiers were resplendent in uniforms with brass buttons still bright from winter cleaning. Artillery that rolled behind strong horses with their grim black tubes smartly aligned atop on steel-rimmed wooden wheels. Proud cavalry troops who sat tall in their saddles, saber blades glinting flashes of silver in salute under the blue skies.

In our County, this week marks the time that Armies packed up their gear from winter encampments and prepared to move on foot and horseback amid the newly blossoming trees. Moving with purpose to impose their collective will on nature and humankind.

We have admired Bud Hall’s work since our little aggregation of citizens found a way to manage their own encampment that (currently) requires no marching. Unless the Chairman has removed the keys to the Farm F150 to restrict us from road march to the Belmont Farms establishment. When we have to do that, we observe the mostly young riders at Summerduck Farms Equestrian Center just up the road, and listening to the booming CrackerJack event that summons memory across the glorious conclusion of the promise of Spring, and the onset of the real and rich growing season of the coming Summer.

(Historian and Teacher Clark B. Hall at Brandy Station, site of the largest cavalry battle in North American history).

Bud Hall has walked this rich and fertile land for a lifetime of learning and teaching. In this special season of beginnings, his words augment the detonations, the reality and proximity of our past is brought home as a reality that enriches our lives in mostly peaceful times. Rising from our places of slumber after a rejuvenating rest, the sound of small runs of fireworks reminds us profoundly of the crucial role of this place of growth and transit in the history that made us what we are.

Bud said it in his article this week. It opens grandly, with this summation of our local past: “…our country’s reunification after its deadliest conflict resulted from the military decisions made by one man in Culpeper County in the spring of 1864, 158 years past, this very week.”
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(Our Stevensburg in older and more martial times.)

“The day was cloudless, with a light haze coming from the West. General Grant, with his inevitable cigar, rode across the field from the direction of Culpepper, and took post on a knoll overlooking the plain. Then, began the glorious pageant …Each of the four divisions passed in regular order, the bands discoursing patriotic music.”
So, with the rumble of the CrackerJacks in the early evening, we were called back to the times of a young solider whose Commander came to be known to his soldiers as “Unconditional Surrender” Grant. ‘Bud’ Hall finished his article with this stark recollection from a young man who walked these fields, slept upon this soil, and who was commanded to roll up bedding and rucksack and walk south with tens of thousands of comrades.

Bud Hall recalls it best from words inked long ago in proper penmanship in dark black ink in early May of 1864 about these green and growing Culpeper fields. He reflected the confidence of his cohort in arms in the man on horseback with the cigar clenched in his teeth: “We will either ruin General Grant, or he us, and the Confederacy.”

That is also the sound of Spring in these verdant fields and below gentle green hills. The sound of the fate of a nation.

Copyright 2022 Vic Socotra
Quoted text and images from Clark B. Hall and Times-Exponent
Assorted Booms courtesy CrackerJacks Mid-Atlantic Fireworks Club

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