BROTHER AGAINST BROTHER

The Civil War has been described as many things, the least of which is actually civil. Men who once offered to lay down their life to defend their brothers in arms were again called upon to make the same sacrifice, only now they were willing to die trying to take the lives of those they may have once saved.

I grew up just north of Atlanta, in Marietta. I spent years hiking the trails and running across the battlefields at Kennesaw Mountain and Kolb's Farm. I knew that the beloved city of my birth had been burned to the ground only to rise from the ashes reborn. I knew the history I was taught, I learned the basics about the battles, I have always found the the war to be a fascinating subject. A couple of years ago I spent an afternoon at the Marietta National Cemetery and thought it interesting that there seemed to be endless rows of Union soldiers from Ohio buried there, many more it seemed than from other states. A couple of years later and six hundred miles to the north I found myself staring at a restored, but still battle and age ravaged flag with some very familiar names on it.

The Ohio Historical Society currently has on display a collection of Ohio regimental flags from the civil war that are part of a huge restoration project. As I walked through the gallery in awe I started to really look at the details of each display. It had info on where the men of that particular group would have originated from, where exactly they marched and which battles they fought in. Many of the flags had been embroidered with the names of the battles after their return, names I did not often come across in the middle of Ohio, names I was well familiar with, names that brought back memories of humid summer evenings hiking past old cannons and monuments. There were stories of lost regimental and captured Confederate flags, I was wide eyed....and then teary eyed as I retraced my steps back through the gallery and started to notice that so many of these men had converged on Atlanta. These men were in part responsible for the total destruction and burning of my birthplace! Soon, however, a new perspective took hold. How many of these men lost their lives, so far from home, in the city of my birth? How many times had I as a child run over a battlefield, crossing the very spot where these men took their final breath on this earth?  Brother against brother these men fought on both sides for what they believed to be right at the time and many a sacrifice was made. These flags represent a legacy of both sides of these beliefs: the good and bad, dark and light, beautiful and ugly.

Another couple made their way through the exhibit, quickly glancing at the names on each flag before moving on. To them they may have just been words, meaning absolutely nothing. To me, they mean everything.

SILVER BRITCHES

I was recently made aware of the wonderful blog Back Down South. It has very much reminded me of one of the things I miss most about being away from the south in the fall: the tradition of dressing up on a Saturday afternoon. My wife and I met at the University of Georgia, where gameday is a sacred event and I used to love seeing her put on a little dress and fix herself up and then go scream at the top of her lungs for her Junkyard Dawgs.

I was discussing this fact with a friend up here as we looked at images of a swarm of fans heading into a game decked out in jerseys and face paint. "You seriously mean women wear dresses and men wear a shirt and tie? To a football game? that is absurd."

Well, call me absurd then, because I love it. I love seeing the women having their own little fashion competition (don't deny it, you know you do) and I love seeing the men dressed like they're headed to a cocktail party take a detour because they smelled that BBQ that had been in the smoker all night and ended up staying all day, drink in hand.

Speaking of cocktail parties, There's a big one this weekend. Hopefully Georgia can put one in the win column. All I know is win or lose there will be some good looking, well dressed bulldogs down there.

Go Dawgs! Sic 'em!

GOING ROGUE

Fall is in full swing up here and as I was packing away some t-shirts for the colder months I came across one of my favorite new additions from this summer. A few months ago, driving back from the beach, I decided to delay my return north for a few more hours by way of Charleston and ended up meeting Rhett Boyd who owns Rogue Wave Surf Shop, and is one of the coolest and nicest guys I have met. I had read about the shop a few weeks earlier while still in Ohio and had briefly talked to Rhett and told him I hoped to make it by while I was down there. When I arrived and eagerly approached the door to go in I found the door locked and the shop closed. I called the shop number to check the hours, confirmed what I did not want to hear, and made my way back to the car. Within minutes of driving off though, Rhett called me back and politely apologized for missing my call. I told him I was passing through on the way back to Ohio and had stopped to see the shop. He said he remembered talking to me before and said if I was still close by he could meet me there and open up for me. Seriously? This guy doesn't know me... It's a holiday weekend... He has family and friends in town... He said don't worry and he would be there in 20 minutes.

I was sitting in a chair on the porch of the shop near an old red cooler with a sticker plastered across the top when Rhett arrived. Introductions were made, doors were opened, music was turned on and drinks offered. This is the south after all and the hospitality is second to none. Let me just say at this point that this is not your usual surf shop. Imagine for a moment, as the shop vision was described, if Ernest Hemingway was a surfer. Classic Lit mixed in with surfing photography books, framed photos of what appear to be Civil War generals hang next to vintage surf memorabilia....this place was amazing. Boards by Gato Heroi, great accessories from CXXVI, etc...and all in a cool little space. Rhett and I spent a good bit of time talking shop, and could have kept talking but noting the long trip ahead I grabbed a couple of tees and other items, shook hands, said farewell and hit the road.

About a week after getting back home I received a note in the mail from Rhett, just saying thanks for stopping in and that he hoped I was enjoying the purchases. This was a nice touch to an already memorable experience. Going into Rogue Wave is instantly like being welcomed into a dear friend's home and I for one hope to continue to make my way back there many times...maybe next trip I can make it out to some of those small waves they are so fond of.

RESURGENS

We are back, risen from the literary ashes better than we were before. There is a lot to fill you in on since we last posted. We here at Just North of South know it has been a while, but hey, we were having some fun, checking out new places...and we are excited to share them with everyone. Pull up a chair, get comfy, and check back often.