'1812' can help us learn

The young man walking toward me was not wearing a shirt.
Or shoes.
Or socks.
Or, for that matter, pants.
But the folks beside him — seed company hat, IU t-shirts, and jeans — weren’t bothered a bit.
The young man without pants was, after all, wearing a loincloth. There was a flap over his front and a flap over his backside.
He had some smudges of what might be war paint on his face and fancied himself to be a member of a Native American tribe. Maybe Shawnee, maybe Miami, maybe Iroquois.
And though it was only pretend, in the mind of the historical re-enactor it was all very real.
At least for the long weekend, the three days that mark Mississinewa 1812, a gathering along the banks of the Mississinewa River about seven miles north of Marion, it was for real.
Early 19th century re-enactors — pretending to be soldiers, voyagers, river pirates, merchants, blacksmiths, tinsmiths, trappers, cavalrymen, and, yes, Indians like the young man with no pants — gathered for the 26th year this past weekend.
Because it’s the same era as St. Clair’s defeat and Gen. Anthony Wayne’s establishment of Fort Recovery, many of the Mississinewa participants also have taken part in events at Fort Site Park.
And when they participate, they participate.
Period re-enactors take their history seriously. They’ll spend a small fortune assembling the right outfit or uniform. They’ll plunk down hundreds of dollars for replica swords or muskets. They’ll wear itchy wool uniforms in the hottest of weather. They’ll sleep on mattresses stuffed with straw and smell like a campfire for days after they go back home.
And the most dedicated among them not only do all those things, they bring their families along for the ride: Spouses in period costume, kids in period costume and not a TV or video game in sight.
Sometimes I think events like Mississinewa 1812 exist simply so my wife can encounter, first-hand, guys that she’s grateful not to have married. No matter how irritating I can be, no matter how bad my bad habits, at least I’m not asking her to wear a bonnet and sleep on a mattress stuffed with straw.
And while I might think these guys — and most of the driving force behind this comes from guys — are a bit daft, I’m glad they do what they do. An afternoon like Sunday, strolling through the encampment along the river, is a delight. They help bring history to life, especially for kids. And I’m more than a little envious of their ability to shed their day-to-day lives and adopt a persona.
So I’m grateful.
Except maybe for that young man with no pants and only the flaps of a loincloth.
In his case, I’m just grateful there was no breeze in the air.[[In-content Ad]]