The second half of my ride went along the way of Pickett’s Charge. I’ll never be able to imagine what those men were thinking when they lined up and then walked across those open fields, knowing the bullets and the cannon balls and exploding mortars were going to fly thick as a plague of locusts.
The Confederates and the Yankees met on farm fields outside a sleepy farm town.
Winter was setting in, temperatures plummeting down into the 20s F, with a gusty wind blowing in out of the north. My feet were getting cold. Nevertheless, I made a turn to go and see another farm house that I love, romantic dreams of what it would be like to live there entering my mind.
What you can’t really see in the photo is a satellite TV dish tucked into the corner of the yard behind the fence. Romance be damned!
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