Lanterns, Liberty, and a Last-Minute Muster
I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d be stepping into that afternoonābut I packed my minuteman clothes anyway.
I checked for any notice from the Sons of the American Revolution (SAR) and didnāt see anything. Still, experience has taught me that showing up prepared is often the difference between watching and participating.
So I brought everything.
A Quick Change and a Familiar Call
I followed event parking signs to the Valley Health lot near the gazebo on Main Street. As I stepped out of the car, I immediately spotted familiar faces from the Colonel James Wood II Chapter.
They lamented that I could’ve joined them if only I’d brought a tunic.
āIāve got everything,ā I replied.
Ten minutes to start time.
They pointed me toward a trailer with restrooms. Inside, it was surprisingly comfortableāwooden floors, humming air conditioning, a mirror, and cabinets. A far cry from the usual plastic blue setup at events.
I swapped pants, wrestled with a pair of shoes that had seen better days (thanks to Gwinnās earlier ācustom modificationsā), and threw on my tunic as I headed back out. Tricorn hat on. Outfit complete.
Phone and wallet stayed in the car. No time to think. Just move.
Into the Crowd
We made our way around the fence, ducking under low branches that seemed determined to knock off every tricorn hat in attendance. Passing through the wooden gates in the back, the grounds opened up. Music, tents, and people everywhere. It was alive.
I barely made it in before being asked if I could join the drill team.
Iād done it once before. That was enough.
I was handed the VA250 flag and given quick instructionsāleft hand at the belly, watch the man in front, match the movement. Simple in theory.
Execution? Less so.
Marching, Memory, and Muscle
We formed up.
Commands came back slowlyāfamiliar, but not automatic. March in place. Step forward. Turn left.
I tried to sync with the man ahead of me. First his shoulders. Then his feet. Neither quite worked. Every correction felt just a fraction too late.
Still, from the outside, I suspect most eyes were on the American flag leading the formation.
When it came time to lower the flags, I held mine at 45 degrees. It was drilled into memory during a past winter event. With wind, gloves, and the moment itself, precision becomes more of an intention than a guarantee.
Then came the Pledge.
I didnāt recite it.
Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was holding the flag. It’s a small detail I learned elsewhere, one that still feels strange every time. Add a tricorn hat into the mix, and it feels even more out of place.
But tradition is tradition.
A Few Hiccups
Mid-ceremony, a speaker faltered, unable to finish. Another stepped in. It created a moment of uncertainty, but the formation held.
Later, a command to “clear the colors” came, and hesitation followed. It took a couple of repeats before movement resumed.
Not perfect.
But real.
Ink, Paper, and a Slower Pace
After dismissal, I wandered the grounds.
At the Samuels Public Library booth, they were teaching people to write with quills. I gave it a try, dipping into ink, trying to find that balance between too much and too little.
The breeze had other plans, sending papers sliding and hands scrambling to hold things down.
Still, I managed a few lines and even got a couple of compliments on my first attempt.
Not bad for someone used to keyboards. Many people longed for the days when cursive was still taught in schools, while others countered that technology had advanced to the point where cursive wasn’t as useful as other skills, such as using a computer or other devices.
The Coin
Near the entrance, I stopped at the county booth.
Someone asked if I had received a commemorative coin.
I hadnāt.
They handed me one.
For a moment, I assumed it was something you’d purchaseāmost coins like that, in the organizations I’m part of, run about ten dollars and help support the group. I had helped create a skit for the library’s America 250 Bingo Challenge, where people could win a coin at bingo, so I had already seen it up close.
But this one was being given out freely.
To everyone.
That stood out.
It wasnāt just a keepsakeāit was something tangible that people, especially kids, would take home and hold onto. The kind of object that sticks around long after the day itself fades.
Simple.
But meaningful.
Food, Photos, and Familiar Faces
I made my way to the food trucks and grabbed a cold strawberry drink from Petty Bettyāno sample needed.
Nearby, the county had a photo setup with a towering cutout of George Washington. The IT Director had me stand on a stool to match the height and snapped a few photos, later asking to use them on social media.
A reporter from the Royal Examiner struck up a conversation, asking about the groups Iām involved with. One question turned into several, then into names, connections, and shared circles.
That’s how these events go.
The SAR Tent
Back at the SAR booth, we had muskets, a lantern, a bayonet, and other artifacts laid out. People kept stopping, curious and asking questions.
āAre you reenactors?ā
The answer was a resounding “No”.
SAR is about education, lineage, and honoring those connected to the Revolutionary War. Every member traces their ancestry back to someone who served, supported, or pledged allegiance.
Some visitors shared their own family histories. Some were reaching into Canada, opening conversations about migration after the war.
Heat, Hunger, and a Segway
By late afternoon, the heat was catching up to me. I hadn’t eaten all day.
Dinner came from a food truckā$25 all in. Not cheap, but not surprising.
A Moment of Humor
At one point, the interim county administrator, dressed as Dr. Joseph Warren, rolled by on a Segway.
āItās the only horse I could find,ā he said.
I caught it on video.
It spread quickly.
A Schedule That Didnāt Quite Hold
Evening brought some confusion.
Events started early. Then earlier. Then out of sync entirely.
We waited for āDr. Warrenā to begin the closing portion. He was nowhere to be found until I tracked him down near the parking lot, apparently off to retrieve a cloak.
By the time he returned, the benediction had finished.
Timing matters, and the show must go on.
Lanterns and the Walk
As twilight approached, glow sticks and bracelets were handed out. A large Clydesdale led the procession toward the gazebo.
I handed my glow stick to a child who had just missed out.
Small things matter.
Muskets and Responsibility
The final ceremony included a musket volley.
Plans shifted: location, direction, and safety considerations. Eventually, I found myself helping block traffic into the firing area.
Not something I expected.
Without visible law enforcement managing it, it felt like a line had blurred, but the task needed to be done to keep everyone safe.
Three volleys.
Each one requires awareness, communication, and a bit of authority in the moment.
The End of the Day
By the time it was over, I’d been on my feet for hours. The heat, movement, and focus were all adding up.
Dr. Martin thanked the group, calling me by name.
I made it home, let the dogs out, fed them, and sat down.
And then I didnāt move much after that.
