I seem to have been born in the wrong time. But often I wonder if I would think the same thing, had I been born before the 1800s. Probably. It is my nature for long for things I cannot have and will never be able to obtain. Such is the nature of all humans, I suppose.
I have been caught up in a book, called "Caty" for about a week. I finished it last night. Of all the books I've ever read, it was one of the most pleasant. So much history plagued its pages... history which includes the parts I live in today. It is strange to think my bare feet often touch the ground that Revolutionary soldiers walked on and that I marvel at the oaks draped in Spanish moss, much like the Northerners posted in the South must have.
Caty Greene was Nathanael Greene's wife during one of America's most important times in history, the Revolutionary War. She played a big part in history but her life was not that of happiness, as one might expect from the life of a war hero's wife. She lost two babies, two husbands, - both untimely tragedies - her older son - who had just gotten back from years of studying overseas - disowned her two eldest daughters (separation from her family) and fought debt, rumors, embarrassment to her namesake and the government in search of justice for her husband, who had clothed the men during the war, when the government had promised them so much and had nothing to show for it.
In the end, she realized she would never see her family come out of debt in her lifetime and decided to make the best of things. I truly adore that outlook because I'm not so sure I could have been so strong back then.
She and Nathanael were really good friends with George and Martha Washington, and conducted business with Alexander Hamilton and Eli Whitney, who was in love with Caty until she died.
Nathanael Greene is buried in Greensboro, North Carolina or Greene Square, Savannah Georgia, where his son is buried next to him. I would absolutely love to visit that grave - and Savannah in general. A visit is overdue but unfortunately I've nobody to accompany me.
This photograph was taken at
Christ Church, where the oldest tombstone dates to 1803. I usually don't go there during the day but stand in awe at the haunting peacefulness of the giant Oaks surrounding the burial site at night. There is nothing like Christ Church at night.
Now I am to begin another book about history. I hope it's as good as the last but something tells me it won't be.
Ciao
